


For One Sweet Moment I'm Home (Some Kind of Temporary Sanity)

by NoStrings_OnMe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Seve is trying to get his life together, post-HYDRA!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStrings_OnMe/pseuds/NoStrings_OnMe
Summary: This is it, Steve thought. He was going to have to come clean to the bartender about who he really was, and what he was doing skulking around Brooklyn in the middle of the night, and tomorrow he’d be all over the headlines. Pepper would be pissed, he would never be allowed to leave the Tower again, and he would be resigned to midnight runs on Tony’s superhuman-resistant treadmills for the rest of his unnaturally long goddamn life.“I need a job,” Steve blurted out, before he could stop himself. He downed the rest of his drink in one go before looking back up at Luke.Luke raised his eyebrow. “A job?” he asked, sounding vaguely skeptical. “Working here?”“Yeah, yeah, if you’re…hiring,” Steve finished lamely.xxxxxSteve realizes that he's losing himself to the Captain America persona. Through a series of unfortunate mistakes, he winds up getting a job as a stripper at The Red Room. And all it takes is one client to show him what he's been missing in his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The MCU Winter Soldier movie does not exist in this universe. This story takes place at that approximate point in the timeline.
> 
> Title is from the song Prison Sex by Tool.

“On your left, Cap.”

Tony’s voice rang out over the coms just a moment before he wooshed past Steve’s position. Three short laser bursts from the suit took out the aliens that had been encroaching on Steve, and he ducked just in time to miss the explosion.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled, snatching up his shield and taking cover behind a car parked on the street. He head back against the dented passenger door and sighed. 

“Inside of the building’s clear,” he heard Clint say. “I mean…what’s left of it, I guess.”

“Rendezvous at the jet in 10?” Natasha replied. 

Steve holstered his shield on his back and jogged to meet his team, surveying the damage on his way. The building was as bad as Clint has said, with cinderblocks littering the sidewalk and rebar exposed on all levels. Steve could smell something burning as well, and he could hear firetrucks approaching in the distance.

“Hey, man,” Sam greeted him as he arrived at the jet. Steve offered a half smile and sat down next to him. “You make it out alright?”

Steve shrugged. “Better ‘n you.” He gestured to the Natasha, who was wrapping some gauze around Sam’s bicep.

“This? This is nothin’,” Sam laughed, although his slight wince when Natasha pulled too hard on the gauze had Steve raising his eyebrows. 

“Whatever you say,” Steve said lightly.

They all looked up when they heard Tony land in the suit. He took off the helmet part and inclined his head. “Everybody ready? I was thinking we could get dinner on the way home. Know anywhere with a parking lot big enough for the jet?”

“Love to, but I’ve already got plans,” Natasha said coolly. “So the sooner we make it back, the better.” She slid open the door and hopped into the jet.

“If she’s got plans, I guess that means I’ve got plans too,” Clint shrugged, and followed her onto the plane.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam shook his head. “I’ve got a hot date with a hospital bed and some painkillers.” He stood carefully before boarding the jet.

Steve got up and tried to follow, but Tony interrupted him. “So what, Cap, it’s just me and you?” he leered.

Steve shuffled up the jet walkway awkwardly. “Um, thanks Tony,” he said, “but – uh, - I was just gonna go home.”

Tony tsked as he powered up the jet and took off. “You don’t know what you’re missin’, grandpa. I’m great company.”

“Maybe next time,” Steve conceded absently. He gazed out the window and pointedly tuned out the conversation for the ride back to the tower.

xxxxx

The growl of Steve’s Harley sputtered to an end as he kicked it into park outside of his apartment complex in Brooklyn. After the Battle of New York, Tony had offered him a suite (well, more like an entire floor) of the Avenger’s Tower to live in. It was a generous offer, but Steve had immediately tensed up at the thought of living so high-profile, with people watching and waiting for his every move. 

So he’d taken a bit of his army back pay and settled on a moderately-alright place near his old borough in Brooklyn. It was clean, his neighbors mostly ignored him, and his living room had great lighting in the afternoon for him to paint. 

It was dark now, though, as Steve flicked on the lights in his flat. There was a half-eaten bagel on the counter from his breakfast, and his running shoes were in the middle of the hallway. It was almost enough for him to pretend that he was normal, that he was simply coming home from a late shift at the office.

He stripped off his SHIELD issued sweats, given to him after his medical examination, and turned on the shower. As the water heated up, he took a deep breath, letting the steam calm his long-healed lungs in a comfortingly familiar way. He stayed under the spray until his skin was blotched with pink and his fingertips were shriveled into prunes, and then pulled on a clean pair of boxers before climbing into bed.

As he reached over to turn off the lamp, he glanced at the clock – 9:27. An early night, even for Steve, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do with himself. Despite the exhaustion that settled deep in his bones from the fight today, his mind raced with anxiety and memories of the past before he drifted off into a restless sleep.

xxxxx

Steve sat up straight in his bed, hand reaching out desperately for his shield. His breathing raced, and it took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he recognized his bedroom. He dropped his shield with a soft clang to the floor, and ran his hand through his hair, damp with sweat. 

Another nightmare. Sometimes they were clear, like a photo reel running through his unconscious mind. He knew those ones well, as the startling clarity of those terrible moments haunted his waking thoughts all too often. But tonight, things had been different. These nightmares, he couldn’t remember. They were a blur of sounds and pictures, a mess of screams and the grinding of metal and the cloying smell of gunpowder. These nightmares were somehow worse, because Steve awoke with the fear and adrenaline of battle still coursing fast through his veins, without knowing why. 

He felt nervous and scared and worn out, but in no way ready to go back to sleep. The clock reminded him that it was only 11:42, andhe had barely been asleep at all. With a soft groan, Steve eased himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. He groaned again before standing all the way up and pulling on a pair of jeans. If he was going to be awake and miserable, he might as well be awake and miserable somewhere besides his lonely bedroom.

xxxxx

Steve tugged up the hood on his jacked at he walked down the street. The night was cool but not cold, and every so often Steve would pass a couple or group of friends on the sidewalk. Just other people out there enjoying the prime of their lives, he though bitterly, quickening his pace and turning the corner.

He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going or how long he had been walking. He was in an unfamiliar part of the city, one that was a little darker and a little grimmer. He stopped outside of a dive bar, one with fluorescent lights buzzing on the windows, announcing its name: The Red Room.

Steve could hear the bass thumping faintly through the walls, and there didn’t appear to be a bouncer or anything barring his entrance besides the large wooden door. What the hell, he thought, grabbing the handle and stepping inside. 

It was dark inside, and he could see wisps of smoke curling in the air. There was a bar along the back wall, but most people were crowded around a stage up front. Curious, Steve stepped forward, staying near the back so as not to intrude. Lights flashed around, but the stage was empty…save for a shiny silver pole, right in the center.

It seemed that Captain America has stumbled upon a strip club.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the music changed pace. The crowd that had gathered cheered loudly, and when the lights lifted, Steve could see a young woman enter the stage.

Yeah, this isn’t really what I was looking for tonight, Steve thought dismissively, turning and heading back towards the bar. He took a seat, chewing thoughtfully on a few of the peanuts before the bartender noticed him.

“Bourbon, neat,” Steve asked, and tall black man nodded and pulled out a glass.

“Not watching the show?” the bartender asked, sliding the drink over the counter to Steve.

“Not really what I came for...” Steve trailed off, looking up at the man.

“Luke,” the bartender finished for him. “Luke Cage. And you are?”

Steve was a little stunned that the man, Luke, hadn’t already recognized him. He was about to answer when he remembered what kind of place he was in. “Grant,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Grant Stephens.” 

Luke shook his hand in his strong grip. “So Grant,” he said conversationally. “You said the show wasn’t really ‘what you were looking for’. What exactly did you have in mind?”

Steve took a sip of his drink. “Not really sure,” he answered. He wasn’t sure what Luke was trying to get at, but the other man seemed nice enough.

“We do have other…attractions,” Luke hinted, picking up a rag and wiping down the bar top. “Whatever your tastes. I’ve got a couple of girls on tonight – lovely girls, really – and even a few guys if that’s what you want.”

Steve just stared at him.

“The rooms usually go for a hundred an hour,” Luke continued. “Might be a little higher, depending on what you ask the girls to do. But that’s up to them.”

“Oh – oooh,” Steve stuttered, finally realizing what Luke was asking. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not – uh, I’m not really looking for a…for a hooker.”

“Professional dancer,” Luke corrected him, not even breaking a stride. “You’d just be getting a private performance,” he winked.

Steve quickly finished his drink and set the empty glass on the bar top, quiet while Luke refilled it. “Um, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled. “Not really what I meant either.”

Luke finally stilled in his cleaning. “So you come back here, nervous as hell,” he gestured to Steve’s hunched-over form and flitting eyes, “and you don’t want to watch the show or buy some time?” He set the rag down and crossed his arms. “What’d you want, anyway?”

This is it, Steve thought. He was going to have to come clean to the bartender about who he really was, and what he was doing skulking around Brooklyn in the middle of the night, and tomorrow he’d be all over the headlines. Pepper would be pissed, he would never be allowed to leave the Tower again, and he would be resigned to midnight runs on Tony’s superhuman-resistant treadmills for the rest of his unnaturally long goddamn life.

“I need a job,” Steve blurted out, before he could stop himself. He downed the rest of his drink in one go before looking back up at Luke.

Luke raised his eyebrow. “A job?” he asked, sounding vaguely skeptical. “Working here?”

“Yeah, yeah, if you’re…hiring,” Steve finished lamely. 

Luke stared at him for a moment before resuming his side work. “Yeah, man, why didn’t you jus’ say so? I could use an extra dancer right now, say, on Fridays?” 

Dancer. The word spun around in Steve’s head. When he had originally word-vomited his request, he thought that Luke would either deny him outright or offer him a position behind the bar on the weekends or something. But, of course, Luke was asking him to be a stripper. And a part-time hooker.

I am in way too fucking deep, he thought.

“S-sure,” Steve said, trying to fake confidence in his voice. “That works for me.”

Luke nodded. “Alright. You ever danced before?” he asked.

“Yepp,” Steve answered, maybe a little too quickly. “Lived in Europe for a few years. Worked a few clubs over there.” He shoved some peanuts into his mouth before he could dig himself any deeper into his grave.

“Good, good,” Luke grinned. “Well, you wanna come by ‘round 5 on Friday? Wanda’s working then – she’s been here forever, she can help you get set up and shit.”

“Yeah, Friday sounds, um, good,” Steve agreed.

“Thanks, man. And hey, don’t worry, we won’t set you up with any private clients right away,” Luke assured him. “We’ll let ya get your shit together first.”

Steve nodded dumbly, before scribbling his phone number on a napkin for Luke and making his goodbyes. He zipped his jacket up and headed down the street before he realized that he had no idea where he was.

Time to call in the heavies.

He picked up his phone and punched in a few numbers. “Hey, Nat? Yeah, yeah I know it’s late. I don’t know. Just listen. I might’ve…I might’ve done something. No, not something bad, but definitely something. Can you please just come pick me up and we’ll talk about it? Yeah, okay thanks.”

Steve rattled off the address to the drug store he was standing in front of, before hanging up and sitting on the curb. The more he was thinking about this gig, the better it was starting to seem. He could get away from his life, from being the Captain, for a whole night once a week. While Steve might have been lying about his dancing experience, he did love to dance, and his skin burned with excitement at the thought of being able to do that for an audience. The “private” sector that Luke kept mentioning made him nervous in a different way, but…we’ll deal with that later, Steve thought.

Natasha pulled up a moment later, and Steve pushed his concerns to the side as he tried to imagine how he was going to explain this predicament to his best friend. 

xxxxx

“I’m sorry, you did what?” Natasha asked, blinking slowly and folding her hands in front of her. The two of them were sitting in Steve’s apartment, where he was cooking them a very early breakfast.

“I got a job. As a stripper-slash-hooker,” Steve repeated, focusing all his energy into flipping the omelet so he wouldn’t have to look at Natasha.

“A job,” Natasha intoned. “Steve, you have a job! A really good job! Why do you think you need another one? Do you know what kind of people take jobs like that, Steve? Desperate ones!”

“Maybe I am fuckin’ desperate, Nat!” he yelled suddenly, slamming the spatula on the counter. The room was silent, save for the sizzling of their breakfast on the stove. Natasha eyed him carefully, her hand carefully poised over her silverware.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighed, going back to his cooking. Natasha relaxed slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just – I’m tired, y’know?” he said, throwing up his hands. “I hate having to be Cap all the time for everyone. I never just get to be me for me. And maybe me isn’t a stripper at a dirty club downtown, but if I don’t try, I don’t think I’ll ever know!”

Natasha reached over the island and rested her hand on top of Steve’s. “I get it,” she said quietly. “This job can be difficult. Sometimes we all just need to…get away.”

Steve smiled, and scooped an omelet onto her plate. “But that’s what you have friends for, Steve,” she continued. “Me, Clint, Sam…hell, even Tony. We’re all here for you, you know that, Дорогая?”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve nodded. “But you guys, you’ve all got your own lives going on. Tony has Pepper and his company, Sam has Maria and the VA, you have Clint and…stuff,” he explained. “I know you guys wanna help, but you can’t all the time, alright? There’s some stuff I gotta do on my own.”

“If that’s what you want,” Natasha said finally. “It’s your life, Steve. If this is what makes you happy…do it.”

Steve broke out into a grin and leaned over to hug her. “Thanks, Nat,” he mumbled. 

“Anytime,” she smiled, untangling herself so that she could eat her breakfast. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the food, before Steve cleared his throat. “So, um…you were a ballerina for a while, right?” he began.

“Yes,” Natasha said slowly.

“Then…do you think – uh – do you think you could teachmehowtodance?” Steve spluttered. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes, before a small smile crept onto her face. “Steve, honey, I’m going to teach you how to shake everything that your momma gave you.”

xxxxx

Bucky pressed against the brick wall, willing his breathing to be silent as the couple passed on the sidewalk beside him. When he was sure they were gone, he stepped back out, careful to stay in the shadows of the streetlights. 

It’s New York. Brooklyn, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

But what if there was? Ever since he had found himself on the beach of the Potomac River, soaking wet and kneeling beside a nearly-drowned superhero, he had been on the move. Bucky remembered bits and pieces of his life before – he remembered being in the army, remembered working for HYDRA, remembered escaping from his handlers. No matter how hard he tried, it only came back to him in flashes. He couldn’t remember dates, and only knew a couple of names.

One of which, unfortunately, was not his own.

There was no one on the streets who really cared about that, fortunately. He slept in alleyways and abandoned buildings, survival instincts from some long-forgotten training kicking in to keep his head above water. He lifted food from stores and stands when he had to, and otherwise stuck to odd jobs where he could be paid in cash at the end of the day, no questions asked.

It was better than the life of a tool, of an asset that he was before. Those memories were clearer than most – Bucky remembered being at the beck and call of his handlers, he remembered the torture, the pain. He remembered the sickening feeling of being forced into missions he somehow knew were wrong, but being more afraid of what would happen if he would disobey. 

Bucky shuddered, the memory of electricity ghosting down his spine. Doesn’t really matter who I am, he thought to himself, with a defiant set of his jaw, so long as I’m my own person.

Not all of the memories were bad ones. There were flashbacks to a red-haired woman, lithe and beautiful, working alongside him. He supposed that he used to have a family, a dark-haired younger sister with a sharp tongue and bright eyes. He remembered a young boy, small and thin but with a personality three times his size. These memories were the best, for although Bucky couldn’t remember who the boy was, he felt a deep longing for the boy. It was a hungry, protective feeling, and it made Bucky want to know him nearly as badly as he wanted to know who he was.

It was late, he thought, pulling himself out of his reverie. The streets were mostly empty, but Bucky was unfamiliar with this part of town. There were plenty of alleys and backstreets he could have picked for the night, but he didn’t like the idea of sleeping somewhere he didn’t know.

Besides, it wasn’t like he needed – or could get – much sleepy nowadays anyway.

xxxxx

Bucky stopped outside of a bar, deciding to duck in for just a moment. He had been standing and walking all day, and he was nearly sure that no one would bother him at this hour if he had a quiet drink in the back booth. 

As he made his way inside, he heard the cheers and whoops of the crowd gathered near the front of the room. He looked over towards what he realized was a stage, and up to who he saw was the dancer. 

His quiet drink was suddenly forgotten. The man on stage, clad only in tight red booty shorts, was quite possibly the most attractive person Bucky had ever laid eyes on – well, at least that he could remember. The dancer was tall, built with strong muscle, and moved with an almost supernatural grace. It was almost as if he didn’t know what an imposing figure he cut in the flashing lights, glinting off the stripper pole in the middle of the stage.

Bucky moved closer, something about the dancer overriding every one of his rules for anonymity. He watched the dancer move across the stage, bending and shaking his way to the pole. When he finally gripped the slim metal between his hands, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. 

The dancer smirked at the audience, making eyes at a few of the members in the front. He slid his hips down the pole, agonizingly slow, the thick muscles in his thighs flexing and glistening with sweat. Bucky’s eyes followed his every move, his heart pounding in his chest. There was a brief moment as the dancer lifted himself up on the pole when it seemed as if he caught Bucky’s gaze, holding it seductively as he continued his routine.

As soon as the final beats of the music crackled through the speakers, Bucky turned on his heels and made a beeline for the bar. He ordered a whiskey on the rocks and the bartender poured it up mercifully quick. Bucky downed in in one shot, before sliding it back across the counter for the bartender to refill.

“Rough night?” the bartender asked, a grin evident in his voice. Bucky nodded, and the bartender set the entire bottle of liquor down next to Bucky’s glass.

“Thanks,” Bucky smiled, hoping it didn’t look too fake. He’d been practicing in the mirror, but he always seemed to use too many teeth and ruin the whole look. 

“We’ve all been there,” the bartender assured him, pouring out a few drinks for the ladies that were sitting a few seats down. “That’s mostly why these people are all here,” he said, gesturing to the club.

“Would’ve guessed they were just all here to see him,” Bucky grumbled, jerking his head towards the stage, where the dancer was making his first rounds after his performance.

“Oh, for Grant?” the bartender asked, smiling wryly at Bucky. “Yeah, he’s one of my best. Said he learned how to do all that-” the bartender made a rolling motion with his hips “- over in Europe.”

Bucky chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Bet he learned a lot more than that over there. They say Paris is the city of love, ain’t it?”

The bartender laughed. “You know, you could just ask him yourself,” he suggested, leaning over the bar and lowering his voice. “For a price.”

Bucky’s gaping mouth and lust-blown eyes must have answered whatever question the bartender had posed. He grinned, and stood up. “Grant! Hey, Grant!” he yelled over the music, waving his hand. The beautiful dancer looked up and began to head over. 

Every muscle in Bucky’s body was screaming with anxiety. Get out get out get out get out get OUT! his mind pushed him, but he was frozen to his seat. In just one dance, this hardened assassin has become a love-sick schoolgirl. 

“Hey Luke, what’s goin’ on?” Grant smiled, leaning his elbows on the bar.

“Great show tonight!” the bartender (Luke, apparently) praised. He poured out a glass of water and pushed it over to Steve, who drank greedily. 

Steve shrugged modestly, a warm blush coloring his cheeks. “Aw, y’know, I try,” he grinned. He finally noticed Bucky sitting next to him, and immediately his smile turned from playful to predatory.

“Hiya, baby,” he crooned, moving incrementally closer to Bucky. “You like the show, too?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he forced himself to breathe. “Um, yeah – yes, yes,” he mumbled, forcing his eyes to look anywhere but Steve’s chest, but apparently failing.

“He – uh,” Luke looked over at Bucky, clearly asking for a name. Bucky’s chest tightened, and he willed himself to remain sitting. 

Think, think…He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, before he finally croaked out words. “Let’s go with James.”

“James here is quite interested in you, Grant,” Luke hinted. “He was hoping to get to know you a little better.”

Steve smiled, a little more real this time, and moved his hand to stroke Bucky’s arm. Thankfully, it was his right side, and Bucky only tensed a little bit.

“You wanna come ‘round back with me, Jamie?” Steve whispered, looking up at Bucky through his impossibly long eyelashes. They were smudged around the edges with a dark black khol, only serving to intensify Steve’s gaze. 

Somehow, Bucky found himself mouthing “yes,” and Steve stood up, taking his hand and leading him to a private room in the back. 

xxxxx

“It’s a hundred for an hour,” Steve explained conversationally, settling into the couch and spreading his legs. “And that’s the basics. You wanna do weird shit, we’ll talk about prices for that.” He smiles, charming, and pats the spot next to him for Bucky to sit.

Bucky fishes some crumpled bills out of his pocket and drops them on the coffee table before sitting on the couch, slightly farther away from Steve than he was invited to. Steve counted them, seeming pleased, before folding them and slipping them into a jacket that was hanging nearby.

“So, Jamie,” Steve leered, running his fingers up and down the patch of Bucky’s thigh that he can reach. “What’dya like to do?”

Bucky gulps. It’s dark in this room, but he can see how the shadows play off of Steve’s thickly muscled body. He’s still wearing those goddamn booty shorts, and the outline of his cock is very present against the metallic fabric.

“I – um – I…” Bucky really doesn’t know how to answer this question. He spends his days pacing the streets of Brooklyn and doing mostly unsavory things before passing out in an alleyway for a few hours every night. How was he supposed to tell any of that to Grant, the beautiful, put-together stripper who was inching further and fucking further up his thigh?

“Oh, it’s alright if you’re nervous baby,” Steve giggled, tucking a few loose strands of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. Bucky actually did flinch that time, with Steve’s hands so close to his head. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Steve breathed, removing his hand quickly and settling it on Bucky’s knee. 

“It’s, ah, it’s okay,” Bucky whispered, tugging his jacket tighter around himself even though Steve’s hulking presence so close to him was making his blood run hot. “Didn’t mean ta do that.”

Steve sat back a little, removing his hands entirely. Bucky whined involuntarily at the loss of contact, so Steve scooted closer and rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re not just nervous, are ya?” he asked, dropping the bubbly customer voice he had used a few moments ago. He eyed Bucky for a moment before clearing his throat. “You serve?” he asked carefully.

Bucky looked up at him, making full eye contact for the first time. Steve had gorgeous eyes, blue and clear and sparkling and – 

The memory hit Bucky hard, forcing him to gasp and bring a hand to his forehead. He couldn’t see exactly what his brain thought he should know, but he had that familiar déjà vu sensation he had come to associate with remembering.

“James? Hey, you good, buddy?” Steve asked worriedly, resting a hand the side of Bucky’s face. The touch of Steve’s warm, rough hands was enough to bring him back to the present, and Bucky gasped again as he flicked his eyes back up to Steve.

“Yeah. Um, yes, to both,” he stuttered out, unconsciously leaning back into Steve’s grip. 

Steve smiled, relieved, swiping his thumb over the top of Bucky’s cheekbones. “Yeah, me too,” he admitted, looking away nervously. “Where’d you tour?”

Bucky looked at him anxiously, a sharp intake of breath as he tried again to answer one of Steve’s innocuous questions.

“Hey, hey – shit – I’m sorry, really,” Steve apologized. “We don’t gotta talk about that if you don’t wanna. I mean, you’re payin’ for me,” he grinned halfheartedly. “We can do whatever you wanna do.”

With the way that Steve’s eyes roamed hungrily over Bucky’s body with that last sentence, Bucky sensed that Steve really did mean whatever Bucky wanted. He couldn’t think straight, though, not with Steve looking at him like he hung the moon and teasing his hands lightly over Bucky’s fully-clothed form. Bucky was sure that if there was to be any skin-on-skin contact, he’d die.

“Um, do you mind if we – you, um, probably don’t do this a lot,” Bucky began, trying his best not to sound like the touch-starved head case that he was. 

“James,” Steve said quietly, hands stilling in their movement. “Like, I said, whatever you feel comfortable doing.”

That was all he needed. “Do you think you could just – just lie with me?” Bucky asked, before he could talk himself out of it.

To his credit, Steve took it in stride. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured. He picked up a tee shirt that was handing over the back of a chair and pulled it on, along with a dark gray pair of sweats. “Over here?” he asked, motioning to the large bed.

“Yeah – uh, yes please,” Bucky said, toeing off his combat boots near the couch and following Steve to where he was lying. 

Once they were both on the bed, Steve stretched out his arms, clearly an invitation. Bucky scootched closer, tucking his head into the curve of Steve’s neck. Steve’s arms came up and wrapped around him a moment later. Bucky sighed contentedly, and Steve chuckled, not unkindly.

“I know you said I probably don’t do this a lot,” he said, fingers drawing small patterns on Bucky’s back. “But – if you don’t mind me sayin’ – it don’t look like you do, either.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh. “Haven’t had a lot of time, Grant,” he said. “After I, um, got home, there was a lot of stuff I had to, um…take care of,” he finished.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said wistfully. “You’re gone for a couple’a years and no one seems to mind all that much – not like they were payin’ much attention to ya in the first place – but once you get back it’s absolute fuckin’ chaos.”

Bucky laughed, for real this time, pulling back a little to look up at Steve. “Almost makes you wanna go back,” he whispered, fingers trailing down the side of Steve’s neck. “If you didn’t think about what they had you doin’ over there that was so bad in the first place.”

Steve sensed the sincerity in Bucky’s voice, his eyes softening at it. “I know what you mean,” he agreed. “At least when I’m over here, I’m the only one I can blame for my bad decisions,” he joked, inclining his head back to the club.

Bucky smiled sadly. “I don’t think this counts as a bad decision, Grant,” he said. “You’re doin’ it cos you’re good at it and you wanna.” He shook his head dismissively. “Fuck any’a the other guys who say somethin’ else.”

Steve bit his lip, smiling. “I guess you’re right,” he acquiesced. He stretched his neck to the side, holding his jaw, and Bucky heard a few popping noises.

“You alright there, old man?” he asked playfully, before noticing the tightening around Steve’s eyes at the phrase. “Oh, um, I – uh – I just meant…” Bucky trailed off.

Steve blinked a few times before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, I – uh – I know what you meant, sorry. It’s from dancing,” he said, making a “what-can-you-do-about-it” face. “It’s honestly the best workout I’ve ever had, which is part of why I like this job so much!”

“I need to get in on something like that,” Bucky mused. “After I got, uh, home? I never really could get back into the training routine. It was too…familiar.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve told him, running his hands gently over Bucky’s side, feeling the hard muscle hidden beneath his thin jacket. “You look fitter than most ‘a the guys I served with.”

Bucky could feel the blush burn his cheeks in the dark room. “Oh, um, thanks,” he mumbled, but he could feel himself relaxing against Steve’s body. He took care to tuck his left arm tighter underneath his body, lest a slip of cold metal alert Steve to whom he was dealing with.

Steve shifted nearer to Bucky, his breath slowing as he grew tired. They talked for a while longer, about anything and everything, and Bucky’s guarded personality slowly began to drop. 

Grant is a good guy, Bucky thought with a yawn. He could feel himself relating to this man like he hadn’t to anyone in – well, about seventy-five years. There was something so honest about the dancer, something so raw, that Bucky couldn’t help but to trust him. 

He knew though, from years of experience in undercover ops, that this trust was conditional. If Grant knew who Bucky really was, if he knew the things Bucky had done, then he would turn on him. And besides, Bucky reminded himself, he’s only here because I’m paying him. This is all an act. He tried his best to keep this in mind as Grant’s arms wrapped tighter around him, and a soft sigh escaped the other man’s lips.

xxxxx

Steve was almost asleep. James, tucked warm against his chest, had lulled him into a comfortable state. Sleep didn’t come easy these days, but right now – even in this dusty room with muffled music just outside the door – Steve was sure he could get a solid eight hours. 

He smiled to himself when he heard James yawn; knowing that this man was as comfortable as he was made something swell in Steve’s chest. Which was definitely a weird feeling. He’s just a client, Steve thought sternly. He’s paying for a service. And unconventional service, he allowed, but still. There’s no way he feels the way you do right now.

Steve never got attached to clients. In his two months at The Red Room, he had made that a priority. Even with the eyeliner and glitter and short-shorts, he had to be careful in order not to be recognized. He kept the lights in the back room low on purpose, turning his face away from clients whenever possible. He kept his interactions short and to the point, and he most certainly did not cuddle with his clients after – or even instead of – sex. 

So why am I doing it now? he thought.

James was different. Steve had good experience reading people, so he was sure on this point. Between the way he angled himself just away from Steve’s body, and the nervous flicker in his eyes, Steve knew this man had a story. I mean, c’mon. Who else drops three hundred dollars on a night of cuddling in a whorehouse? he thought.

James seemed familiar as well. They had only been together for a little, but Steve already felt like he knew the guy. James was easy to be around, and he had an aura that Steve hadn’t felt in a lot of people since before the War. It was a little painful, as Steve tried his best not to think about his life back then, but also comforting.

Steve tried to push those thoughts out of the way for the time being. He didn’t know if James was ever going to come back, so might as well enjoy it while I can, he decided. He was just about to nod off again when a sharp tone began to ring from where his phone was sitting on the nightstand.

Bucky, who really had been asleep, jumped up instantly. He stood in the corner of the room, arms raised to either block an attack or start one. His eyes were wild, and for the first time, Steve noticed the soft leather glove on Bucky’s left hand. 

“Hey, hey, James,” he tried, quickly dismissing the alarm on his phone. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It was just my alarm,” he explained, holding up his phone. “It’s – uh – it’s the end of my shift, actually.” He threw back the sheet on the bed and stood up, slipping on his sneakers. “You okay, buddy?”

Bucky relaxed in his stance, lowering his arms. His eyes still roamed the room, and Steve could see how he was inching closer to the exit. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” He seemed to be reassuring himself more than Steve. When he noticed Steve gathering his things, he grabbed his boots and began lacing them up quickly. “I’m sorry, I can go, I’m sorry,” he repeated, patting down his pockets to check that he had all his items. “Didn’t mean to, uh, keep you,” he apologized. 

He stopped on his way out, thought for a moment, and then produced another twenty from his pocket. “For a..for a tip,” he insisted, shoving the crumbled bill towards Steve.

Steve just stared at him, before shaking his head. “Hey, James, no. You already paid me,” he reminded him. “And don’t worry about keepin’ me. I’ve honestly got nowhere to be,” he shrugged. “I live alone, don’t even have any pets. No one’s gonna miss me.” He stopped, biting his lip before he spilled any more of his life story to this random guy.

Bucky nodded stiffly, putting the money back in his pocket. “I’m sure somebody’d miss ya,” he said softly, slipping his hands into his pockets and standing awkwardly against the door.

“Maybe,” Steve replied absently. “My coworkers, maybe. Luke – my boss – definitely,” he chuckled. Bucky’s face didn’t change, and Steve stopped. “I’m sure someone would miss you, too,” he assured Bucky gently.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Nope,” he said, popping the syllable. “I live alone too – well, sort of, depends on who I’m sharing the alleyway with tonight,” he amended harshly. “And I don’t really got a job, so, nothin’ worth mentionin’ there.”

Steve stepped closer to him. “James, are you serious?” he asked, all laughter gone from his face. “You don’t have anywhere to live?”

Bucky raised his chin defiantly. “No. You got a problem with it?” he asked, clearly readying himself to deflect Steve’s criticism.

Steve shook his head sadly. “James, of course not,” he said, placing his hand on his shoulder, slow enough that Bucky could move if he wanted to. “That makes me upset, though, but not in the way you’re thinking,” he continued. He paused, scrunching up his brow as if he was thinking, before going on. “Um, I know this might seem weird, but, ah, do you want to stay with me tonight?” he asked quickly. “Or for the weekend. I don’t mind, really, but – um, if that’s way out of line, you can, uh, say no.”

Bucky didn’t reply for a moment, looking critically at Steve. He seemed to be considering his options, before he finally said, “I’m alright, thank you though,” very politely. He zipped up his jacket and made to open the door before Steve caught his wrist. 

“Please, just think about it,” he pleaded, before handing him a small piece of paper. “This is my address,” he said shyly, releasing his grip on Bucky’s arm. “I don’t normally do this, I swear,” he laughed nervously. “But you seem…you seem different,” he said finally. “And I want to help you. Or whatever. Not that you look like you need my help, but, uh, just if you ever want to stop by? For anything?” He looked at Bucky, eyes wide. “Obviously, you, uh, know where to find me,” he said, gesturing to the room. “But I’m at home more often. So just. Um. Think about it.”

Bucky looked at the piece of paper before folding it and placing it into his breast pocket. “Thanks, Grant,” he said softly. He gave Steve an awkward pat on the shoulder before disappearing from the room.

Steve stood in shock for a moment, before gathering the rest of his things and clocking out with Luke up front. He pulled his hood up the moment he stepped outside, and let the strong growl of his motorcycle and the sharp bite of the wind clear his mind as he rode back to his apartment.

xxxxx

The next night, Steve was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had already exhausted his list of things to do that evening. He had dinner, ran on the treadmill for a while, took a shower, watched the news, had dessert, and even checked his email, but sleep still eluded him. He thought about calling Natasha, but a glance at the clock told him it would be socially unacceptable to call anyone at this hour, even Tony. 

He groaned, and fluffed his pillow a little before turning onto his side. He screwed his eyes shut, basically willing sleep to come at this point, when he heard a noise. A very soft knock, coming from his front door.

He was out of bed in a second, tugging on a shirt. He honestly had no idea who it could be – most of the Avengers wouldn’t bother knocking, either kicking in the door or somehow picking the lock. If there was an emergency, Fury would’ve called first.

Steve clicked open the lock, and drew in a sharp breath when he saw who was standing on his stoop. Bucky was wearing the same ragged jacket from the night before, but had added a black baseball hat. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his cheeks had a wind-bitten rosiness to them.

“Hi,” Steve said breathlessly.

“Hi,” Bucky replied, rocking back on his heels. “Um, you said yesterday that I could come by? If I, uh, needed anything?” he asked, unsure.

“Oh, god, um, of course,” Steve replied. “Yeah, come on in.” He moved from the doorway, and Bucky stepped inside. He toed off his boots and took of his hat, but kept his jacket wrapped securely around him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, as the color returned to his face.

“Anytime, James,” Steve said honestly. He was suddenly unsure of what he was supposed to do. “Uh, what did you need?” he asked, before mentally kicking himself at the bluntness of the question.

“Somewhere to sleep,” Bucky replied evenly, sitting on the couch. “Just for tonight,” he clarified, raising his eyebrow. “I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

Steve laughed. “It’s already morning, buddy,” he said, gesturing to the clock on the stove. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you nee- want. It’ll be nice to have the company.”

Bucky smiled a half-smile. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Steve stared at him, still surprised that he had shown up. He was secretly ecstatic that Bucky had accepted his invitation. Ever since his shift that night, he had been thinking about the mysterious man. To have him in his own home, off the clock, was unreal. 

Do not fuck this up, Steve commanded himself, before Bucky cleared his throat.

“I can, um, sleep out here?” he asked, gesturing to the couch.

“Oh, oh, yeah, that’s cool,” Steve stuttered. “Let me- let me grab you some blankets.”

Bucky began to protest, but Steve had already darted to the linen closet. He grabbed a whole stack, and returned to the living room and promptly dumped them all on the coffee table. “Uh…let me know if you need more,” he said. 

Bucky unfolded one single sheet and started to tuck it around himself. “This should be alright,” he insisted, bending one arm to rest beneath his head. “Sorry if I woke you up,” he apologized, gesturing to Steve’s boxers and tussled bedhead.

“Wasn’t getting much sleeping done, to be honest,” Steve shrugged. “I’m glad you came,” he said, quieter this time.

Bucky looked at him, and Steve felt like his entire soul was on display. Bucky’s blue-gray eyes seemed to bore into him, and even though he was dressed, Steve felt exposed. “I’m glad you invited me,” Bucky replied finally, before turning over. “Goodnight, Grant,” he said.

Steve stood there for a moment more before returning with, “’Night, James.” He flicked off the light and headed back to his room. This time, when his head hit the pillow, he was relieved to feel himself drift off to sleep.

xxxxx

Steve awoke the next morning, feeling oddly peaceful and well-rested. Then the night before came rushing back to him, and a smile began to spread across his face. He hoped that James had stuck around this morning, as selfish as that hope was. He brushed his teeth quickly in the bathroom, and tugged on some sweatpants before heading out to the living room.

The blanket that Bucky had used was refolded neatly on the arm of the couch, but he was nowhere to be seen. Steve felt his heart drop, before he heard a soft “shit” and the clanging of pans coming from his kitchen. He turned around the corner and found Bucky squatting down in front of the cabinet.

Steve cleared his throat, and Bucky shot up. He turned around and grinned at Steve. “Hey, Grant,” he said, still a little shy. “Mornin’.”

“You sleep alright?” Steve asked, crossing the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. It gurgled to life, and he fetched two mugs from the rack. 

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky answered, currently occupied with Steve’s stove. “Sorry if I woke you. I was gonna try ‘n cook you breakfast or something, to make up for me stayin’ here and all, but…” he pointed to the mess of ingredients he had piled on the counter. “I couldn’t figure out how to work your kitchen.”

This was it. Steve was going to die from the adorableness of the situation. James, this man he barely knew, was standing in his kitchen, brandishing a spatula. His jacket was partially unzipped, revealing his bare chest underneath. Bucky had attempted to tame his bedhead into a messy ponytail, and he had streaks of flour on his jeans. 

Steve just wanted to eat him up. Or eat him out.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Steve brushed him off. “You don’t hafta do anything, pal,” he said, handing Bucky a cup of coffee. 

“I’d really like to, though,” Bucky insisted, gratefully accepting the mug. “You really…helped me out, last night.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Steve stepped behind him and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. “What were you gonna make?”

“Pancakes sound good to you?” Bucky suggested.

“Definitely,” Steve replied, momentarily entranced by the other man’s smile. A couple of his front teeth were slightly crooked, pushing out his upper lip into a permanent pout.  
That smile brought about a familiar tug in Steve’s chest. He bit his lip, so as not to let Bucky know what he was thinking.

Steve handed Bucky the mix, and the other man added water and began to mix. The pair were quiet as the pancakes sizzled on the stove, sipping coffee and simply enjoying the morning.

When the food was finished, Steve set plates out on the table while Bucky grabbed toppings out of the pantry. He set a bottle of syrup and jar of peanut butter on the table, seating himself next to Steve. “Damn, these look good,” Bucky appraised, reaching for the butter in the middle of the table.

“How’d you know I liked peanut butter on my pancakes?” Steve asked slowly, picking up the jar and looking inquisitively at Bucky.

Bucky stopped buttering his pancake, and the hand that was holding the knife stilled. “I…I, uh, I don’t know,” Bucky said quietly, abruptly returning to his food. “Just a guess, probably,” he mumbled, cutting up his pancakes a little harsher than necessary.

“Well…that was a good call,” Steve said eventually. “I used to eat them like this all the time before the wa- when I was younger,” he corrected himself. “Didn’t used to have a lot of money, and peanut butter was cheaper than maple syrup.” He offered a bite to Bucky on the end of his fork. “’S not bad, promise! Try it,” he coaxed.

Bucky leaned over and accepted the pancake, chewing thoughtfully. “Pretty good,” he admitted. “Still would rather have maple syrup.”

“That’s because you have an insatiable sweet tooth,” Steve ribbed him. “Uh, you’ve got something right-” He pointed to his own lip, and Bucky got the hint. He poked his tongue out of his mouth and licked the peanut butter off his lip. Steve took a deep breath in through his nose and tried not to choke audibly. “Yeah, you – uh, you got it.”

Bucky smiled at him, before standing to clear their plates. He shut down Steve’s protests with, “You let me sleep in your house and eat your food, Grant. Of course I’m gonna do the dishes, man.”

“Jerk,” Steve said playfully.

“Punk,” Bucky retorted, freezing immediately after. The pair were silent for a moment, unsure of the exchange that had just taken place. 

“Well, ah,” Steve broke the silence. “If you wanna take a shower or anything, the bathroom’s over there,” he pointed. “I can get you some towels and stuff.”

“That’d be great, actually,” Bucky said, nodding stiffly. He finished loading the dishwasher while Steve set up the bathroom. When he got to the shower, he turned the water on as hot as it could go, and stepped under the spray.

When he was finished, he toweled off and brushed his teeth with the extra brush Steve had set out on the counter. He looked down for his pile of clothes, only to find them gone. Bucky wrapped a towel securely around his waist, before opening the door and knocking on Steve’s bedroom door. “Hey, uh, Grant?” He knocked again. “Did you do something with my clothes?”

Steve swung the door open, surprising Bucky, who took a step back. They faced each other, both shirtless, with Bucky’s wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. Steve was wearing a pair of jeans, and holding a shirt in his hands. 

“Um, hey,” Bucky said. It wasn’t like he had never seen Steve shirtless before, but in this domestic situation, it had an entirely different connotation. “Sorry, I just – I don’t have anything to wear.” He gestured lamely to the towel on his waist, when he realized what had triggered Steve’s crazed expression.

Fuckuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, went Bucky’s internal monologue. In his haste to find clothes, and his bliss at finally staying in an actual building with heat and food, he had forgotten one minor (major) detail. 

“Your arm,” Steve whispered, reaching his hand out to touch the delicate metal plates, before aborting the gesture and retracting his hand. 

“Grant, I promise, I can explain,” he promised, looking around frantically for something – anything – to cover his body with. “Shit, I’m sorry, fuck – I can leave, right now, if I can just find some -”

“Don’t go,” Steve said suddenly, a little louder than he intended. “Please,” he added, closing his fingers around Bucky’s metal wrist. 

“Grant, c’mon,” Bucky scoffed. “I’m a mess. I’m a monster! Look at me!” he yelled frantically, tearing away from Steve’s grip. “I don’t even know why I have this! I don’t know, I don’t remember anything, I don’t know,” he repeated, his voice breaking. He leaned against Steve’s bedroom doorway, scrunching his eyes shut to hold back tears. His heartbeat was too loud in his ears, and his chest was constricting. Ready to comply. The Asset is ready to comply. Ready to comp- 

“James?” Steve said, interrupting Bucky’s spiral into disassociation. “James, you with me, pal?” he asked gently. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he continued, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re safe. I’m here, we’re in my apartment, you’re safe,” he chanted, moving slightly closer to Bucky.

Bucky opened one eye, and then the other. He uncurled his fists and forced his arms to fall straight against his body. “Grant…” he began, before Steve cut him off.

“I’m not mad,” Steve assured him. “I’m not even upset. Well, I’m a little upset – at myself – that I got you into this situation by takin’ your clothes,” he admitted, looking a little ashamed. “I was just gonna throw ‘em in the wash for you.” he grabbed a stack of clothing from a pile on the chair, thrusting it at Bucky. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

Bucky accepted the pile awkwardly, tucking it against his still-damp chest. “You don’t care?” he gaped at Steve. “You take a dude home from the strip club and let him stay over and then you find out he’s got a robot arm and you apologize?” 

Steve bit the inside of his cheek nervously, wringing his hands. “Doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He saw Bucky’s eyes widen in shock, and quickly backtracked. “Shit, uh – not like that, I just meant that I still think you’re a good guy and I like hanging out with you. Even though you have a metal arm.”

Bucky snorted unkindly. “A ‘good guy’? Let me tell you something, Grant,” he sneered. “I am not good. In fact, I’m bad,” he growled. “I’ve done, terrible, horrible things, and I don’t even have the decency to remember them or to feel bad about them. There is not one good part of me.” He leveled his icy glare at Steve, setting his jaw. “I misled you. Cleary, it was a mistake. I’m sorry I took advantage of you.” He turned on his heels and slammed the door to the bathroom, and two minutes later he emerged, hastily dressed.

“James, please,” Steve pleaded, following him to the front door. “You can stay, you can stay, I won’t - ”

“You’re a good guy, Grant,” Bucky interrupted him. He finished lacing up his boots and opened the door. “Save your heart for someone that deserves it.” And with that, he was out the door.

Steve stood staring at the door, dumbfounded. A few moments later, he unplugged his phone from where it was charging, and dialed. 

“Hey, Natasha?” he said, casually as he could manage. “Could you come over? Nothing’s wrong – fuck, nevermind,” he sighed. “Yeah. We’ve got an issue. Mh-hmm. I’ll see you in ten.” He clicked his phone off and dropped onto the couch, exhaling a long breath. 

Yeah, he was going to be in big fucking trouble.

xxxxx

Natasha took a bite of her pizza, somehow without smudging her lipstick. “So tell me about it,” she said after a beat. 

Steve groaned and rested his head in his hands. “Nat, he was so sweet and I could tell he just needed someone to care, and I -”

“And you made it your personal mission to save him,” Natasha finished. “It’s what you do, Steve. It’s who you are.”

Steve rolled his eyes and picked up another slice of the pizza they had ordered in. “I do not,” he insisted. “James, he just – he just was different. You wouldn’t believe his eyes, Nat,” Steve said reverently. “They were this perfect shade of gray-blue, and they were so eager, but so sad…” he trailed off.

Now it was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Sounds like someone’s got a cruuuush,” she sang. Steve shook his head vehemently, but Natasha fixed him with a glare. “Seriously, Steve,” she said. “You’ve known this guy for what, two days? Jesus Christ, мальчик,” she chided. “I was worried this was going to happen when you told me about the job,” she confided, softer this time. “You’ve got such a big heart, Steve. Big hearts get broken easily and often. And you’ve had enough heartbreak for a lifetime,” she reminded him. 

Steve looked up at her sadly. “But that’s the thing, Nat,” he moaned. “I haven’t felt this close to, this open with anybody since – since him.”

“That was seventy years ago, Steve,” Natasha said. “The world’s different now. You can meet anybody you want. You don’t have to settle for some crtazy hobo you picked up in your club.”

“I’d rather have that robot-armed sweetheart than any random fling off ‘Tinder’ or whatever the fuck, any day,” he grumbled.

“What did you say?” Natasha said suddenly, whipping her head up. “A what-armed sweetheart?”

Steve’s cheeks colored, and he coughed. “Uh, did I not mention that part?” he asked, voice going up at the end of the question. 

“No, you certainly did not,” Natasha answered coolly, tilting her head. “So why don’t you tell me now.” It was phrased as a question, but coming from her, Steve knew it was more of a command.

“Well, when he had gone to take a shower, I threw his clothes in the wash,” Steve began slowly. “And I meant to give him something else to wear, but I got distracted, and I - ”

“Get to the point, Steve,” Natasha interrupted. “Please.”

Steve sighed heavily. “He knocked on my door, wrapped in a towel, asking for clothes. Even though he bought out some of my time on Friday, this was the first time I had seen him shirtless,” he reminded Natasha pointedly. “I guess he had been comfortable enough to forget what he was supposed to be hiding? Or he was nervous from getting out of the bathroom to find all his clothes gone, or whatever, but,” Steve looked up at her, wincing. “His entire left arm was metal. Seriously. There were dozens of small plates that seemed to overlap and form it? Jesus, Nat, it looked really real. And there was a red star painted or stuck to the top of his bicep, too.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It was beautiful, Nat. But James seemed so ashamed of it.”

Natasha’s face had gone white. She tried to school her expression, but Steve could see the small tremor in her hands, folded in her lap. “What else do you know about James, Steve?” she asked evenly.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Not a lot,” he admitted. “He’s kind of squirrely? Doesn’t like to talk about himself a lot. He said he served for a while, but it didn’t sound like he left on good terms. I invited him to stay here because he said he had nowhere else to go.”

Natasha nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “Did he tell you how he got his arm?” she asked.

Steve coughed again. “Um, well, he said…he said he didn’t remember,” Steve answered quietly. “He said he didn’t know why he had it, or how it had gotten there. And he seemed really, really upset about that.”

Natasha closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths before she spoke. “You’re going to have to quit your job, Steve,” she said finally. “And you’re going to have to come back to the Tower.”

Steve stood up, pushing out his chest. “Nat, what the fuck? I’m not going to do that,” he said defiantly. “Jesus, I promise, this was no big deal! I just called you ‘cos I was freakin’ out that the guy I liked walked out on me!”

Natasha stood to face him. “It’s not about that, Steve,” she said, clearly trying to keep a lid on her anger. “I don’t think James is who he said he is.”

Steve paused. “What are you talking about?” he said, voice small.

Natasha put her hand on his shoulder “You know that mission I told you about? The only one I’ve ever had to cut short?” Steve nodded, and she lifted the corner of her shirt to expose a small scar on her hip. “I got shot,” she said plainly, lowering her shirt. “By a Russian assassin, trained by a rogue science operation called HYDRA.”

“I’m sorry, Nat,” Steve said. “Did they ever get the guy?”

“That’s the thing,” Natasha continued. “I didn’t get a real good look at him – it was a long-range rifle. But when I gave the description to my CO, I got almost the same reaction you’re getting from me now.”

“What’d you see?” Steve asked, brows furrowing together.

“Tall. Built strong, but lean. Dark hair tied back. A black, muzzle-like mask covering his face. And a shiny metal arm, with a bright red star on the shoulder.”

Steve stared at her for a moment, before scoffing. “Oh, c’mon Nat,” he laughed. “You don’t honestly think my client is the Soviet assassin who took you out in Eastern Europe, do you?”

Natasha’s flat expression told him that she did. “Intelligence calls him the Winter Soldier,” she explained. “He’s a ghost, Steve, responsible for dozens of high-profile assassinations over the past few decades. I’m one of very few people who’ve ever survived an encounter with him,” she said. 

“That’s not possible,” Steve shook his head. “He’d be ancient. There’s no way one guy could work like that for so many years.”

“You’re living proof that a guy could, Steve,” Natasha said softly. “Intelligence never caught the Soldier, but we did dismantle HYDRA. I was part of the op sent in to clean up their mess. When we got to the lab, we found all their notes and trials. They had been working since the end of the War to create another supersoldier serum, like the one that you got.” She took Steve’s hand, gently running her thumb over his knuckles. “It didn’t quite work. The Solider was stronger and faster than the average man, but not at your level. Whoever they picked for the trials was a problem, too – he didn’t take well to the serum. The lab reports detail horrible fights and fits by the Soldier, until HYDRA finally had to resort to torture. The Soldier’s file said that he had been brainwashed, his memory wiped, until he was nothing but a blank slate. That way, HYDRA could use him to commit their crimes.”

“The perfect weapon,” Steve murmured, shivering a little at how close he had come to ending up just like that. 

“Exactly,” Natasha agreed. “My team’s op was successful for the most part, as we torched HYDRA’s main lab, got the locations for all its satellite bases, and rounded up most of the scientists.” She grimaced. “According to the lead scientist, Dr. Johann Schmidt, the Solider had been out on a ‘mission’ when we had arrived. His team had just enough time to destroy their communication transmitters with him before we got there, essentially leaving the Soldier in the dark wherever he had been.”

“Natasha, that’s awful!” Steve looked genuinely pained. “You said he had memory issues, trauma. What if he’s just wandering around out there somewhere? He could in danger!”

“Or dangerous,” Natasha corrected. “Dr. Schmidt said that his programming would wear off in time, and he would abandon his mission. But their tests showed that psychological damage was extensive, and there was no telling who he’d be after that happened.”

Steve dropped back onto the couch, looking lost. “So…you think…that James is the shell of the Winter Soldier? And that’s why he has a metal and acts skittish and weird all the time?”

“Unfortunately…yes,” Natasha answered. 

“I’m not going to turn him in,” Steve said rebelliously. “He’s my friend.”

“He’s about to be your mission,” Natasha told him. “I have to call this in. If he contacts you again, we’ll need to know about it.”

“I won’t do that to him!” Steve smacked the coffee table with his hand. “Natasha, he’s hurt. He’s not dangerous. We need to help him, not make him even more nervous and distrustful.”

“Steve, we can’t take that chance,” she broke it to him gently. “If you knew some of the things he’s done-”

“Then let him tell me himself!” Steve glared at her. “I guarantee he’d be a lot more likely to talk to me than to a bunch of your goons in suits.” He softened his gaze, and sighed. “Natasha, please, just let me do this one by myself,” he begged. “I swear, he’s different now.”

Natasha raise her eyebrow. “I don’t understand why you’re so protective of this guy, Steve,” she said confusedly. “But…if it’s that important to you…”

“It is,” Steve interjected. “I can handle it. I’m Captain America, y’know,” he said with his trademark smirk.

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Natasha deadpanned. “Speaking of which. Does he know? Have you left your shield lying around or anything? Does he call you Steve?”

“No, he has no idea,” Steve assured her. “I go by Grant at the club, and that’s what I told him. I don’t really have much Avengers stuff here, either, so it didn’t really come up.”

“Good, that’s good. Keep it that way. The Soviets never really liked you, so there’s no telling what your name could trigger in his leftover programming,” she warned.

“I won’t tell him,” Steve agreed. “I’ll handle everything else my way, but I won’t tell him about Cap.”

“Suit yourself,” Natasha said idly, before her phone dinged loudly. “I have to take this,” she apologized. Before heading out the door, she turned one more time to face Steve. “Be careful, and keep me updated,” she told him solemnly. He gave her a one-arm hug, and off she went.

As soon as she was gone, Steve opened his laptop and began to pull up every webpage he could find on the Winter Soldier.

xxxxx

Three weeks later, Steve was sitting at the bar, counting his tips. The dollar bills were spread across the counter, and he had a bottle of water to his right. The club was basically closed, as Luke was just waiting for the last group to close out their tab.

It had been a pretty good night, in terms of money made and performances done. He had done his usual routine, but since there were a couple bachelorette parties in the audience, it had gone over a little better than usual. He’d only had two private customers, which was less than usual, but one client had asked to do body shots off of his abs so he’d made a little extra from that exchange.

Steve was tired, though, and ready to go home. He was still stressed out from his conversation with Natasha, and his heart hurt with every night that passed that Bucky did not return. Steve was sure that he was never going to come back, and he was about ready to just give up.

“You do alright tonight?” Luke asked him, stepping behind the bar.

“Alright,” Steve grinned, folding his cash and shoving it in his pocket. “See you next week,” he called to Luke as he headed out, who waved in return.

When he got to the parking lot, he felt his senses heighten. He looked around, but saw nothing. Paranoid, he chastised himself, fumbling in his pocket for his motorcycle key. There was the soft scrape of feet behind him, slightly louder this time, and he turned around quickly only to see – 

James. 

Bucky stood in front of him, holding a plastic grocery bag. His face looked more tired than the last time Steve had seen him, the circles under his eyes darker and more pronounced. Even in the dark cover of the parking lot, Bucky looked tense and ready to bolt at any second.

“Hey,” Steve broke the silence. “How’re you…doing?”

Bucky bit his lip, not answering, before shoving the bag towards Steve. “These are your clothes. I’m returning them,” he clarified. When Steve didn’t move to accept the bag, Bucky shook it again. 

“Uh, thank you,” Steve said, grabbing it. “You could’ve brought them by my apartment, y’know. Or just kept them.”

“This was better for both of us,” Bucky said sadly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. The cool winter air whistled around them, and Steve swore he could see a shiver pass through Bucky’s body.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Steve offered. “Please, James. I don’t care what happened to you, or what you did. You’re different now,” he insisted. “Please let me help you.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Bucky said harshly, but Steve could see a tremble in his jaw. 

“It’s not pity,” Steve said honestly. “I like you. I like to help people. I want to help you.”

“Why me?” Bucky whispered, stepping closer to Steve. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, inching closer towards Bucky as well. “But I know it’s the right thing to do. I can feel the connection that we have, James.” They were close enough to touch, standing beneath a street lamp on the edge of the lot. “I enjoy being around you.”

Buck considered this, searching Steve’s face for any sign of deception. He apparently found none, because he nodded stiffly. “Okay,” he murmured finally. “Okay.”

Steve smile was so wide that Bucky thought his face was going to split in half. He reached out, seemingly to hug Bucky, before retracting halfway. Bucky grinned and rolled his eyes, reaching out and accepting Steve’s almost hug. He pressed his nose into Steve’s chest, reveling in the warmth of the other man. Steve held him tight, relaxing into their embrace.

When they heard a car near them unlock, and the last drunken table stumble out into the lot, they broke apart. Steve insisted on continuing to hold Bucky’s hand, the one sheathed in a leather glove. “Ready to go?” he asked, inclining his head towards his motorcycle. 

“Now or never,” Bucky teased, throwing his leg over the second seat. With his arms wrapped securely around Steve’s midsection, they took off into the night.

xxxxx

Bucky is absolutely, 100%, without-a-doubt fucked. Why did he agree to this? You’re still dangerous, Soldier, a voice in his head growls. You could hurt him. You could even kill him.

But one look at Steve, his eyes bright and excited, still with a little eyeliner creasing near his lashes, assures him that he could never. If this man believed in him, believe that he could be good, then Bucky knew he could at least damn well try. 

He toes his shoes off in Steve’s front door, and follows him into the kitchen. He takes a seat at the table while Steve opens the fridge, staring inside without a purpose.

“You hungry, James?” Steve asks. Bucky still doesn’t exactly remember his real name, but something about the way James rolls off Steve’s tongue makes his stomach do flip-flops in the best way possible. 

“If you’re cooking, kiddo.” He gets up and stands behind Steve at the fridge, tentatively wrapping his arms around his waist. He can see a pink flush appear on the back of Steve’s neck, and smiles to himself. 

“I, uh, I definitely can do that,” Steve chokes out. He gathers some ingredients, stacking them on the island. 

Bucky lets go of him and grabs a bowl from the taller cabinet when Steve asks him to, before turning on the stove and heating up a pan.

The kitchen was filled with the sounds of chopping vegetables for a few minutes before Steve finally opens his mouth. “So what’ve you been up to?” he asks conversationally.

“Not a whole lot,” Bucky admits. He pops a slice of carrot into his mouth, ignoring the way Steve swats at his hand. “Makin’ money. Trying to stay warm.”

“That’s…good,” Steve decides. “I’m, um, I’m glad you’re back, though.” He peered up at Bucky through his eyelashes, and what’s left of Bucky’s heart positively melts.

“’Course, Grant,” he grins. “Your apartment is nicer than any shelter I’ve ever stayed at.”

“So you only like me for my heater.” Steve attempts to sound mock-wounded, but Bucky notes that his acting skills are severely subpar. 

“Not true,” Bucky contradicts, stirring the vegetables that Steve has placed in the pan. “Your food is also passable. And you look good in an apron.” He points to the “Kiss the Cook” number that Steve has tied over his sweats, a joke gift from Sam after he brought cupcakes to an Avengers meeting one time.

Steve barks a laugh, and bumps Bucky’s hip with his. “Good to know where I stand,” he murmurs, but his cheeks were rosy from the good-natured teasing.

The food was soon finished, and they ate in comfortable silence on the couch while some reality show played in the background. Steve seemed (too) invested in the characters, which Bucky found (too) amusing. They ended up eating an entire pack of Oreos for dessert, and by the time Steve started yawning, Bucky realized it was nearly six a.m.

“You need to go to bed, Grant,” he insisted, pushing at the other man. 

“’M not tired, James,” he tried, but yawned again. “Okay, m’ybe I am.”

“Yes you are.” Bucky stood and offered Steve a hand in getting off the couch. 

“I’ll see you in the morning – er, afternoon?” Steve asked hopefully, standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

“I’ll be here,” Bucky replied, tugging the afghan from the back of the couch over his legs. “Night, Grant.”

He heard Steve’s bedroom door click shut, and it didn’t take long after that for sleep to take him.

xxxxx

Steve cracked his eyes open, glancing at the clock. Only two hours of sleep, he groaned to himself. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark of his room. He did note that it was strange that he had woken up, since he couldn’t recall having a nightmare.

Then he heard a noise from the other room. It was a soft thumping sound, and Steve thought he could hear voices as well. He grabbed a tennis racket from his closet for a weapon (James is still here, he reminded himself. Do not go barging out there with the shield.) He left his room and peeked around the corner, moving silently to the living room.

He looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He heard the thump again, and turned around quickly to where James was lying asleep on the couch.

He seemed to be having a nightmare. His feet kept kicking out, making the noise Steve had heard when they hit the arm of the couch. Bucky’s eyes twitched restlessly, and his hands were curled into tight fists around the blanket.

“James?” Steve whispered. “James!” he tried louder, but Bucky just moaned quietly and thrashed in his sleep.

Steve took a deep breath, creeping closer to the other man’s sleeping form. “James, buddy, you gotta wake up,” he said. He knew what it was like to have these nightmares, and he knew how disorienting it could be to wake up in an unfamiliar place. It was best to wake up slowly and carefully, but that didn’t look like it was going to happen for Bucky.

Steve reached out and gently touched Bucky’s ankle. “James? James, can you hear me?” he asked, shaking Bucky’s foot.

In an instant, Bucky’s eyes snapped open. He shot up off the couch, throwing a swift punch at Steve before he stumbled into the coffee table and fell back against the floor. Steve blocked the attack with the tennis racket, before throwing it to the side and dashing to Bucky’s side.

“Hey, hey, you good?” Steve asked, keeping a slight distance.

Bucky crouched against the wall, breathing heavily. He hissed something at Steve, but it wasn’t in English. (Steve thought it could be Russian, but he had no idea).

“James? James, listen to me,” Steve said calmly. “You’re safe. It’s 2016, you’re in Brooklyn, and you’re staying the night in my apartment.”

Bucky stood up slightly, but he still had his body arched away from Steve. “Grant?” he said roughly. “What- what happened?”

Steve took another slow step towards him. “You were having a nightmare,” he explained. “It sounded bad. I woke you up, and you kind of just…” 

Bucky grimaced. “Did I – did I hurt you?” he asked through tight lips.

Steve held up the tennis racket with a small smile. “I uh – I thought there was a burglar, when I heard you,” he admitted. “So, to answer your question, no.” He tossed the racket onto the table, and Bucky flinched when it landed.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky said, deflating. “I can go, it’s not a big d-”

“James, no.” Steve closed the distance between them, holding both of Bucky’s hands in his. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I have nightmares all the time too, y’know. War does that to people.”

Bucky removed one hand from Steve’s grasp to wipe at his eyes. “I usually just don’t sleep,” he confessed. “I’d rather be tired than scared.”

Steve’s heart broke for the man. “I know,” he soothed. “It doesn’t help when you wake up in the dark alone.”

Bucky stiffened, and he bit his lip. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said nervously, leaning against Steve’s chest. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Um, you can let me know if I’m way outta line,” he started. “But do you want to…um…stay with me? Tonight?” Bucky was quiet, for long enough that Steve stuttered, “You don’t have to, it was a dumb idea, you -”

“Yes,” Bucky said suddenly. “Um. If you’ll have me, that would…that would really help.”

He let go of Steve’s hands and followed him to the bedroom. Steve crawled under the covers on the right side, and Bucky laid down on the left. 

“You can get under the sheets, James. I won’t bite,” Steve said playfully. 

Bucky huffed a laugh, burrowing under the comforter. They lay facing each other, quiet before Bucky said, “Thank you, Grant,” quietly.

Steve grinned and shuffled closer, throwing an arm over Bucky’s waist. “Of course,” he replied, pressing his face into Bucky’s hair. He heard Bucky sigh lightly, and soon they were both fast asleep.

xxxxx

Bucky woke up first. They had shifted during the night, so he was now facing the door with Steve curled up against his back. His arm was draped over Bucky’s chest, but Bucky didn’t feel trapped or constricted at all. 

He felt…safe.

The clock on Steve’s dresser told him it was 4:00 in the afternoon. They had slept away nearly the entire day, but Bucky knew Steve deserved it after working so late at the club yesterday.

Bucky yawned, stretching his legs beneath the covers, enjoying the pop of his knees and ankles. He shifted closer to Steve, who let out a muffled noise at the movement.

“You awake?” Bucky asked, looking over his shoulder. 

Steve opened one eye. “No,” he deadpanned, before shutting it quickly.

“It’s basically nighttime, Grant,” Bucky pushed him, rolling over. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”

Steve exhaled noisily from his nose. Sure, he’d been okay with Bucky calling him Grant when they first met. He was used to it at the club, and he knew it was necessary. But here, in the comfort of his own bed, with Bucky so close to him, it felt wrong. Steve was worried that Bucky had placed his trust in a lie, in this fake persona Steve had created. In being “Grant,” Steve was trying to separate himself from the Cap personality and be somebody that was closer to his real self. Now, it just felt like he was trying to juggle two characters, and nobody – including himself – still knew who Steve Rogers really was.

“You good, punk?” Bucky asked, poking Steve in the arm. Apparently, Steve’s moral crisis had left him quiet for a good amount of time and Bucky was getting antsy.

“Be better if I was still sleepin’, jerk,” he retorted, flicking Bucky’s ear.

“Hey!” Bucky cried indignantly, but a sharp grin spread across his face. He pressed his cold feet against Steve’s shins, reveling in the way the blonde howled.

“Oh, you’re on.” Steve kicked the sheets aside and grabbed Bucky’s hips, tickling him up to his ribs. Bucky let out an undignified squeal and laughed, throwing his head back.  
Just a Steve thought he had the upper hand, Bucky spun onto his side, rolling on top of Steve so that he was straddling his thighs. He reached up to tickle under Steve’s arms, and Steve laughed even harder. The metal of Bucky’s hand was cold, making the experience all the most shocking.

“Uncle, Uncle!” Steve gave up after a few moments, gasping for breath between laughs.

Bucky relented, and collapsed on top of Steve’s chest. Steve’s arms instinctively came up to wrap around him, rubbing gently across his back. 

Bucky propped his head up against his folded hands on Steve’s chest, looking at him. “Thank you for last night,” he said shyly. “I think it helped a lot.”

Steve brushed him off. “Don’t be silly, James. It was nothin’.”

Bucky hesitated, before shaking his head. “Grant, I have to tell you something.” Steve looked at him expectantly, and he continued. “James isn’t my real name.”

Steve was quiet, before he finally said, “’S cool. There’s plenty’a people at the club who use fake names. Not exactly the kinda business you wanna be known for goin’ to,” he joked.

Bucky shook his head again. “That’s not what I mean. I can’t…I can’t remember what my name was. Or is. Just like I can’t remember how I got this arm, or anything else.” He laid back down hiding his face in Steve’s shirt.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Steve consoled him. “I ain’t mad at you.” He paused. “So, uh, what do you want me to call you, then?”

Bucky raised his head back up. “I dunno. James is fine, I guess. It’s one of the names that I kinda have rollin’ around up in my head? From the stuff I do remember? It’s all in bits ‘n pieces. Who knows, might actually be my name after all.”

Steve looked at him, concerned. “James, do you remember anything else like that?” he asked. “I’m not tryna pry, or make you feel uncomfortable, but -”

“You want to help me,” Bucky finished. “I understand. I’ve been back here for a while now, and – um…I think I’m ready. I want to get help.”

Steve smiled widely at him. “That’s so great, James. I promise, I will do whatever I can to help you get your life back.” He tucked a strand of hair back behind Bucky’s ear. “I’m real proud of you, pal.”

Bucky just looked at him, all white teeth and plush pink lips and compassionate blue eyes. Before he could stop himself, before the alarm bells in his head could even begin to sound and tell him to fuck right off, Bucky closed the small distance between them and pressed an eager kiss to Steve’s mouth.

Steve was frozen for a moment, utterly shocked at this new development. He had been smiling still when Bucky leaned in, so their teeth awkwardly cracked together when their mouths made contact. Bucky was persistent, though, and didn’t let up.

Steve got it together enough to bring his hands up to rest on Bucky’s shoulders. He slipped his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, reveling in the warm heat. Bucky moaned, reciprocating the action and deepening the kiss. He nipped softy at Steve’s lower lip, spurred on when he heard the other man’s sharp intake of breath.

When they finally broke apart, they took a moment just to stare at each other. Bucky could see the blush rising high on Steve’s cheeks, and took the opportunity to drop a small kiss on each pink spot.

“That was…something,” Steve appraised. 

“A good something?” Bucky asked, searching his face for signs of discomfort. 

“A very good something,” Steve insisted, leaning back in for another kiss, this one slower.

“Well,” Bucky said, pulling back. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

Steve just couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he countered, before Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Shaddup,” he drawled, before rolling off of Steve with a sigh. “Now, let’s go,” he pressed. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that I was hungry. Like, an hour ago, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I distracting you?” Steve asked with mock horror, following Bucky out of bed and wrapping his arms around the brunet from the back.

“Very much so,” Bucky agreed, licking Steve’s bicep. Steve let go immediately at the sudden sensation, and narrowed his eyes at Bucky.

“That’s really the best use you could think of for your tongue?” he jibbed.

Bucky winked. “You’ll find out later,” he sang, heading to the bathroom. “I’m gonna brush my teeth, and then we’re really gonna go get breakfast!” he yelled from the other room.  
Steve just shook his head, even though Bucky couldn’t seem him. He felt incredibly lucky that the other man was seemingly sticking around, but Natasha’s warnings and his own guilt weighed heavily on the back of his mind. 

He took his turn in the bathroom when he heard Bucky banging around in the living room, taking just a few minutes before he met him out there.

Bucky brightened immediately when Steve walked into the room. He laced his fingers through Steve’s and leaned against his shoulder.

“Where’re we going?” Steve asked, grabbing his baseball cap.

“It’s a surprise,” Bucky stage-whispered. He tugged Steve’s arm, leading them both out of the apartment.

xxxxx

“They have the absolute best French toast here,” Bucky assures Steve as they slide into the red leather booth. It has been about a ten-minute walk to get to the diner, Bucky with his arm looped through Steve’s elbow the entire way. 

“The best, you say?” Steve said skeptically, eyes scanning over the menu. “Well then, I guess I know what I’m getting.”

The waitress came by at that moment to take their orders. She raised her eyebrow when they both ordered the same thing, plus multiple sides of eggs and bacon and hash browns, but dutifully wrote it all down. She left with a promise to be back with some coffee soon.

“So, do you come here a lot?” Steve asked, fiddling with his straw wrapper. 

“They’re open all night,” Bucky shrugged. “Which is pretty nice when you’ve got nowhere else to go. The owner’s pretty nice, she doesn’t mind if I just order a drink and then hang out for a few hours.”

Steve’s face tightened, and he began tearing at his wrapper with more force. “About that…” he began, flicking his eyes up to Bucky. 

“Yeah?” Bucky encouraged.

“You should move in with me,” Steve blurted. “Um…if you want to, that is.” Every one of his senses was screaming at him to rescind the offer. Having Bucky spend the night every once in a while was one thing, but having the other man live with him all the time? What happened when he had to leave on Avenger’s business? What if one of the other Avengers came by the apartment? Worse, what if one of them found out about Bucky? 

Bucky looked just as surprised as Steve, and they were both quiet. “Okay,” Bucky agreed finally. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Steve lied through his teeth. He was absolutely sure that this was going to end in disaster, but the thought of Bucky going out on the streets for even one more night was too much for him to bear. We’ll figure this out, Steve thought, trying to reassure himself. A world-renowned, amnesiac assassin living in the same flat as one of the world’s mightiest heroes? No problem.

Bucky’s thankful smile was so genuine and beautiful that Steve could almost feel like he was doing the right thing. He opened his mouth to say something, but their waitress just returned. She spread their impressive order across the table, checking that they didn’t need anything else before leaving them to it.

“Oh my god, James,” Steve moaned around a forkful of the French toast. “You weren’t kidding!”

Bucky smirked. “I don’t know a lot, but I do know breakfast food,” he bragged.

Conversation was limited while the two men made quick work of their food. By the time they were both sated, they had consumed nearly everything they had ordered.

“C’mon, Grant,” Bucky goaded, holding out the last morsel of bacon. “You gotta finish it, man. I’ll explode if I have another bite.”

Steve began to refuse, but one look at Bucky’s pitiful puppy dog eyes had his will crumpling. “Fine,” he grumbled, leaning forward and eating it right from Bucky’s fingers. He laved his tongue over Bucky’s metal fingers on the premise of cleaning off the rest of the grease, but the blown-out look in Bucky’s pupils assured Steve that the other man got his hint.

“Fuck,” Bucky said reverently as Steve pulled back.

“Check?” Steve asked nonchalantly, as if Bucky couldn’t see the blush darkening his face.

Bucky nodded frantically, signaling their waitress. Steve barely looked at the receipt, throwing the approximate (read: way too many) number of bills on the table before they both jumped out of their seats. 

xxxxx

Steve kept his hand in the back pocket of Bucky’s jeans the entire walk home. He kept sneaking glances at the other man, who returned them just as unsubtlety. It took Steve a few seconds to fit the key in the lock, and the pair nearly fell into the apartment when he finally did.

They stood against the wall in the entryway, lazily making out for a moment. Steve could feel his phone buzzing in his back pocket, so he fished it out and tossed it on the countertop. Nothing was going to get in the way of this moment. 

Bucky’s hand carded through his hair, pulling a little as the roots. Steve moaned into his mouth, prompting Bucky to grind his hips harder against Steve’s. Steve slipped his hand under Bucky’s shirt, running his fingers lightly over the hard muscle of his abdomen.

“Grant, somebody’s – somebody’s callin’ you,” Bucky gasped out, reacting to the loud buzz of Steve’s phone on hard countertop.

“They can fuck right off,” Steve told him, moving to press kisses down Bucky’s neck. He grazed his teeth across Bucky’s ear, and was rewarded with a soft shit from the brunette. He grinned, and returned to his assault on Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky grunted, and moved suddenly to push Steve down on the couch. He stripped off his own shirt in one quick move. Ignoring the star-struck look on the blonde’s, he settled himself between Steve’s knees and locked their mouths together once more. 

This is it, Steve thought hazily. I’m going to die a happy man at the hands – at the dick of this beautiful man.

His train of thought was derailed as Bucky rolled his hips sharply against his own. “Fuck, James,” he managed. 

“I’d be down for that,” Bucky quipped, smirking against Steve’s lips. 

“The mouth on you,” Steve chided breathlessly, reaching up one hand to trace Bucky’s cupid’s bow. 

Just as Bucky was about to respond, there was a loud boom from the doorway. The door disintegrated into dust, and the air filled with a faintly smoky smell. Bucky cringed into Steve’s chest, and Steve threw his arm up to protect them both.

“Steve! Steve, are you here? We gotta go!” Sam ran into the room, suited up in full Falcon gear. He stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of the two of them on the couch, his jaw dropping. 

“You got him, Sammy-boy?” an automated voice asked, before Tony flew through the busted doorway. “What the fuck?” he sputtered when he saw what Sam was staring at.

Before Steve even had a chance to say anything, let alone get up off the couch, Natasha and Clint came tearing in as well.

The gang’s all here, Steve thought bitterly. Clint looked just as shocked as the rest of them, but Natasha glared at Steve with the force of a thousand suns.

“So that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone,” Clint realized. “Shit, I feel like an asshole.”

“You fucking should!” Steve yelled, gently moving Bucky off of him and handing the other man his shirt. Bucky pulled it on quickly and stayed curled up against Steve’s side.

“Grant, why are the Avengers in your living room? And why are they calling you Steve?” Bucky asked, voice high.

“Sorry, Cap!” Tony said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Situation. In D.C. Top priority. To be fair, we did call first,” he defended. 

“Cap?” Bucky asked, looking hard at Steve. 

“Yeah, as in Captain America?” Clint supplied unhelpfully.

“What the fuck, Grant?” Bucky yelled, standing angrily from the couch. “Was this your plan all along? You’re working for them? You were going to put me back right where I fucking came from! I can’t believe I ever trusted you,” he spat.

“Grant?” Tony asked confusedly. “Why is the sexy hobo calling you by your middle name, Rogers?”

“Steve here has been working at a strip club downtown,” Natasha explained, still seething. “James here is a client he seems to have…adopted. Against specific instruction.”

“Steve Rogers?” Bucky whispered, face going white as he stilled. “Rogers?”

Steve took his furious glare off of his team for a moment to look at his friend. “James, I’m so sorry,” he pleaded. “Yes, that’s my real name. I just didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to be afraid of who I -”

“I know you,” Bucky said, backing away from him slowly. “I remember you.”

“What’s he goin’ on about?” Sam butted in. “Seriously, Steve, we don’t got time for this bullshit right now.”

“Shut up, Sam!” Steve yelled, standing and reaching out for Bucky, who flinched back. “James, I swore I never meant to hurt you,” he insisted. “What do you mean you know me? You said you were in the service, did we train at the same base or something?”

“He worked for the goddamn Russians, Steven,” Natasha shouted, yanking Steve back from Bucky. “The Winter Soldier would’ve been briefed on Captain America. Of course he knows who you are.”

Bucky’s scared expression hardened in an instant. “How do you know about that?” he demanded, marching towards Natasha. His metal arm whirred as he raised it threateningly, and in a second Natasha had him pinned against the floor. 

“Back off, Natasha!” Steve pulled at her arms, but Tony grabbed him away.

“Sorry, Steve-o. It’s time for the adults to talk.” Tony turned to Natasha, who was struggling to hold Bucky down. “I’m sorry, did you say the Winter Soldier? Internationally famous Cold War assassin?” He looked incredulously at Steve. “How did Spangles here pick him up under our radar?”

Natasha nodded grimly. “Not too clear on that last point, but yeah, this’s him.” Natasha yanked Bucky to his feet, but held his arms securely behind his back. “What’dya wanna do with him?”

“Back to the tower, probs,” Tony determined. “Coulson’s there. He’ll know what to do.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” Steve threw his hands up. “James is not dangerous. He doesn’t even remember what you’re accusing him of! Let him go, okay? He’s my friend.”

“Just leave it, Steve,” Bucky said defeatedly. He slumped in Natasha hold, his hair falling loosely around his face. “I remember…I remember a little of what Natalia says.” He looked helplessly up at Steve. “If they’re right, I deserve whatever’s coming to me.”

“James, please,” Steve begged, holding Bucky’s chin in his hand. “We’ll fight this. You’re innocent. Whatever they made you do, it’s not your fault.”

“I did it anyway, though,” Bucky countered softly. “Let me go, Stevie.”

Natasha tugged him out the door to the jet, and Clint and Sam followed. “Let’s go, Cap. I got your uniform and shield in the jet, you can suit up during the flight,” Tony instructed, heading out the door.

Steve just stood in his living room for a moment, mouth hanging open. No one called him Stevie. Not since 1935…

xxxxx

It was late, and Steve was struggling to make out the words on the page in the dim light of their apartment. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and readjusted his seat the couch. Just as he could feel himself starting to drift off to sleep, he heard the clink of keys outside the door, and the sound of heavy footsteps in the kitchen.

“Buck? That you?” he asked, stifling a yawn. He heard a crash, followed by muffled swearing.

“Yeah, ‘s me,” Bucky slurred, walking into living room. He nearly tripped over his feet trying to kick off his shoes, but eventually succeeded and plopped next to Steve on the couch. 

“How was your night?” Steve inquired, but he could tell the answer from the stench of alcohol wafting off the other man.

“Not – *hiccup* - not to good, buddy,” Bucky admitted, leaning back into his seat. “Mary Lou…she didn’t wanna come back with me. Said I was - *hiccup* - ‘greasy’ or somethin’.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Steve tried to comfort his friend. “I don’t think yer greasy, if that helps at all.”

Bucky, in all his drunken glory, turned his million-watt smile on Steve. “That means a lot ta me,” he assured him, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Don’t know why I even try,” he continued quietly, wringing his hands. “None’a these girls mean a thing to me. Couldn’t care less ‘bout it.”

“Clearly you do care, Buck,” Steve pointed out. “You spent half our rent money on liquor to forget about her tonight.”

“Not ta forget about her,” Bucky corrected, looking insistently at Steve. “I was tryna forget why I even go out with those girls in the first place.”

Steve crinkled his brow. “What’re you talkin’ about, jerk?”

“I go out with ‘em to forget about you,” Bucky said quietly, lowering his gaze. “If I can dance with ‘em and maybe get a kiss at the end ‘a the night, then I think maybe I can go home ‘n forget how much I wish it was you.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Was Bucky really saying what he thought he was saying right now? “Bucky…” he started, not even getting the full word out before Bucky lunged forward and sloppily pressed their lips together.

Technically, it was not a great kiss. Bucky tasted like cheap booze and stale cigarette smoke, and Steve’s mouth was stiff and wholly unprepared for the kiss. 

To Steve, though, it was the best kiss he had ever had. Bucky was warm against him, his rough hands calloused from days at the docks bracketing his thin face. Steve let out a muffled gasp, and Bucky immediately pulled away.

“Jesus, ‘m sorry,” he mumbled, half-heartedly trying to wipe his kiss from Steve’s lips with his sleeve. “You prolly think I’m some kinda pervert. Didn’t mean ta do that, I just -”

Steve leaned back in for a second kiss. He did his best to refine this one, but their mutual passion and Bucky’s inebriated state only let him get so far. “Buck, I want this too,” Steve promised him. “I just couldn’t imagine you ever feelin’ the same.” 

“’Course I would. Why wouldn’t I wanna jump your bones?” Bucky joked, before a sickening green shade crept over his face.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight,” Steve decided, hefting Bucky up underneath his shoulder and helping him to the toilet. He held Bucky’s hair until he was done, and then forced him to drink a glass of water before ushering him to bed. 

“Y’always take such good care’a me,” Bucky mumbled as Steve pulled the blankets up around him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve brushed him off. 

“You do,” Bucky repeated. He yawned loudly before turning onto his side. “Love you, Stevie.”

Steve smiled into the darkness. “Love you too, Buck.”

xxxxx

Steve completed the mission with an almost machine-like disposition. He was clearly wrapped up in his head, and the rest of his team tried their best to give him his space on the jet ride back from D.C.

Except for Natasha.

“So,” she began, sidling up next to him. Steve angled his body more to face the window, but she leaned over further. “When were you gonna tell me that your friendship with ‘Tall, Dark, and Deadly’ was more than just a friendship?”

“I wasn’t,” Steve muttered. “You didn’t need to know.”

“Actually, I kind of did. You’re one of the most high-profile people in the world, he’s one of the most dangerous killers in history, I’m kind of in charge of you,” she reminded him. “I’d like to know when you’re planning on boning SHIELD’s Most Wanted.”

“I didn’t bone him!” Steve snapped, before his face colored. “I mean, we hadn’t – you guys interrupted…that.”

Natasha smirked. “Interesting, but beside the point.”

Steve sighed and finally faced her. “Where is he?”

“SHIELD lockup,” she answered. “Colson’s on top of it.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Steve told her. “James, he’s – he’s sensitive. He really doesn’t remember any of that stuff you guys are talking about! Colson’s going to treat him like a criminal.”

“Because that’s what he is, Steve,” Natasha said gently. “He’s killed people. He’s a soldier.”

“So am I!” Steve yelled, losing his temper. “James was forced to do those things. If you’re going to convict him, you’ll have to convict me too,” he defied, but his voice broke on the last word.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Natasha realized, searching Steve’s face.

Steve pressed his lips together, blinking hard. “It doesn’t make any sense, Nat,” he whispered. “You’re right – I barely know him! But it doesn’t feel like that. When we’re together,” he explained, his lips tugging into a grin, “it feels like I’ve known him for my whole life. You saw,” he asserted. “He called me Stevie.”

Natasha seemed to be thinking this over. “You’re not usually like this with people,” she observed. 

“James isn’t just anyone,” Steve told her. “I promised that I would help him, Natasha. I have to.”

“I want to go on record as saying that I don’t approve of this,” Natasha said slowly. Steve looked at her hopefully, and she cracked a smile. “Come by my floor tomorrow night. I’ll get you in there.”

Steve felt the irrational urge to lean over and hug her, but settled for a strong hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Natalia,” he said. “How did James know that, by the way?”

“He must have recognized me from the mission where I got shot,” she shrugged. “‘Natalia’ is the Russian version of my name, it’s what he would have been told.”  
“Nataliaaa,” Steve tried again, rolling the name with an accent.

“One, don’t ever call me that again,” Natasha stated, swatting at Steve’s arm. “And two, that Russian accept was terrible.”

Steve just laughed. “I dunno, I thought it was pretty good. I bet James would like it,” he leered, waggling his eyebrows.

Natasha made a gagging noise. “THREE, don’t come to me with any more details of your sex life after this all blows over,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Steve looked smug as he turned back to look out the window. Just one more day, he told himself. And you can see James again and make this right.

xxxxx

Steve arrived at Natasha’s room and she answered the door just as he had raise his hand to knock. “Damn, Rogers, did you not get the memo that this was a stealth mission? I could hear your footsteps from down the hall.”

“Uh, yeah, I did actually.” He gestured to his black hoodie and she huffed an exasperated breath.

“The things I do for love,” she muttered, clicking her door shut behind them. They took the elevator to the SHIELD basement levels of the Avengers tower, Natasha swiping some sort of card to get them access.

“Won’t JARVIS see us doing this and tell Tony?” Steve pointed out, and Natasha huffed again. 

“Steve, you know I’m like, greatest spy in the world, right?” she asked patiently. “I already took care of it. JARVIS likes me, y’know,” she bragged. “It wasn’t hard.”

Steve fiddled with the strings on his hoodie, trying to ease his anxiety. “What’re you worried about?” Natasha asked, batting away his hands as the elevator dinged open at their floor. “You’re going to see your boy! This is like, that romantic scene in The Notebook when they run and meet each other and kiss in the rain?”

Steve’s face screwed up in confusion. “That one wasn’t on my list, Nat.”

“Don’t bother with it, then,” she dismissed. “Shitty movie, really. Probably not your type anyway.” She appraised him for a moment, before adding, “Although, you do have a thing for lean, disheveled hunks with blue eyes.”

Steve groaned and she punched him in the arm. “Stealth mission!” she reminded him, leading them both down a darkened hallway. They pressed against the wall as two SHIELD agents walked past, before continuing. Natasha swiped her magic card again, and they entered a laboratory. 

Bucky sat on a stark white bed just beyond a glass barrier. He was dressed in hospital scrubs, and there was a thick band on his metal wrist. He had his hair tied back, and Steve could see the dark circles that had grown under his eyes.

“I’ll give you two…a minute,” Natasha said. “Ten, to be exact. That’s how long we have until the guards make another pass. So be quick!” she advised, before slipping out the door.

Steve stood alone in the room, studying the files that were spread across the table. Bucky’s picture was pinned to the corner of the one that was open, but he looked different. His face was clean shaven, and his hair was short and combed back. He was wearing a U.S. Army uniform, and displaying a cocky grin for the camera. It didn’t really look much like the James that Steve knew at all, actually. In fact, it looked a lot like…

Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes, i.e. “Bucky”. International alias The Winter Soldier, Steve read from the page. His mind reeled, and his eyes searched the page. Presumed K.I.A after the mission in West Berlin. Found and captured by HYDRA scientist Dr. Johann Schmidt. Subject received experimental treatments, including a metal technology-enhanced arm and mental reconditioning. Served the Soviet Union until the SHILED takedown of their main operative basis in 2012. Again presumed K.I.A until the subject’s recovery in New York City 01/12/17.

Steve tore his gaze away from the report, unable to read anymore. Bucky’s not dead. Bucky’s alive, his mind screamed. Bucky’s been living with you the whole time!

It definitely explained why Steve had felt so comfortable around James. It also explained how James knew little things, like Steve’s breakfast preferences or his special nicknames. 

How could he not have known, though? His best friend, the love of his life, had reappeared after eighty years of Steve thinking he was dead. Of course you wouldn’t think that it’s him, Steve told himself. He cursed himself anyway, for wasting any time he could have been looking for or spending with Bucky.

At the thought of his friend’s name, Steve dropped the file and slid open the door to Bucky’s enclosure.

“James?” he asked. Bucky remained seated, hands folded, staring straight ahead. “Bucky?” he tried, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the bed away from Bucky.

Bucky turned his head, seeming surprised when he saw Steve. He offered a half smile. “You came.”

Steve smiled sadly. “Bucky, of course I came. I couldn’t leave my best guy.” He inched his hand across the mattress, settling it on Bucky’s knee.

“You remembered,” Bucky whispered, placing his hand over Steve’s. “I remembered,” he said this time, looking even more surprised.

“Bucky,” Steve began, “I am so, so, so sorry. For everything. For not telling you who I really was when we were at the club, for not coming after you when you fell off the train, for everything that they did to you after the war…”

“It ain’t your fault, Stevie,” he stopped him. “I barely remembered half that shit myself.”

“Do you…remember any more of it now?” Steve asked him. “I’m not tryna push you or anything, I just - ”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Bucky said, gripping Steve’s hand a little tighter. “The people here, they’re not too bad. They’ve been workin’ with me, helpin’ me a bit.” He lifted Steve’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “I remember some,” he finally answered. “Not everything. But enough, I think.”

Steve let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That’s great, Bucky.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but he heard a sharp rapping on the door. He saw Natasha pressed against the glass, tapping her watch impatiently.

“Gotta go?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

“I’ll come back. For real,” he clarified, dropping a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. “During the day. In visiting hours, or whatever.”

As he was about to close the door, he heard Bucky call to him. “You goin’ back to the club this weekend?”

Steve flicked his eyes over to Natasha, who was looking around the corner for the guards. He looked back at Bucky and winked, making a “shh” gesture.

Bucky grinned, and that was all Steve got before Natasha grabbed his elbow roughly and dragged him into the elevator.

“I said ten minutes and I meant ten minutes, Rogers!” she hissed. Steve looked at her, vaguely apologetic, and she deflated.

“So you found out?” she asked, and Steve looked shocked. 

“How did you know?” he asked incredulously. 

“Super spy,” she shrugged. “I’m kidding. I came down here after our debriefing, and I saw the report.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked her.

“It wasn’t for me to tell,” she said simply. “This was the kind of thing you had to find out on your own.” She looked at him seriously. “And plus, you wouldn’t’ve believed me, would you have?”

“You’re probably right,” Steve agreed.

“Definitely,” she corrected, and Steve rolled his eyes before stepping out of the elevator at their stop.

“Thanks, Nat,” he said, and she smiled. 

“Anything for you, Stevie,” she teased, and closed her door before Steve could make a retort. 

Steve took the long way home to his apartment, driving his Harley at breakneck speeds through the empty streets of New York. For once, he fell right asleep when he got home.

xxxxx

Steve visited Bucky every day that week at the SHIELD facility. Between Bucky’s therapy sessions and evaluations, the pair had lunch, played board games, or just lounged in Bucky’s room. Once he was deemed “not a threat,” Bucky had been moved from a cell to a small bedroom, with a living area offset. They spent as much time together as they could, trying to catch up on the years they had lost.

When Steve swiped in his I.D on Thursday morning, he ran into Maria Hill as she was coming out of Bucky’s quarters. She carried a large stack of papers, and acknowledged Steve politely as they passed each other in the hallway.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted his friend, handing him his requisite Starbucks cup and taking a sip from his own. (It was just hot chocolate for Bucky – caffeine wasn’t good for the medicines he was taking – and a smoky butterscotch latte for Steve, because he liked to try fancy drinks.) 

“Hiya, babe,” Bucky smiled, taking a sip of his drink and immediately making a face when it scorched his mouth.

“It literally says, ‘Caution: May Be Hot’ on the cup, Buck,” Steve chided him, pressing a restorative kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Fire cannot kill a dragon, Steve,” Bucky retorted, taking another (slower) sip. “That’s from a book, just so you know.”

“I know what Game of Thrones is.” Steve stuck his tongue out at Bucky. “Natasha made me read the first book. I’m not sure I really get it.”

Bucky looked at him, horrified. “You don’t ‘get it’?” He set his coffee on the nightstand and leaned under his bed, producing multiple books, which Steve assumed were the rest of the series. “Seriously, Steve, that’s a crime. You need to read at least one more, just to be sure.”

“Have you read all of these already?” Steve marveled. He flipped through one of the books, seeing that it was nearly one thousand pages.

“What else am I supposed to do when you’re not here?” Bucky explained. “Natasha got me into it, too. She’s a smart woman,” he observed.

“No argument there,” Steve agreed. “Hey, speaking of smart women: what was Maria doing here earlier?”

Bucky’s expression tightened, and he picked at the cardboard coozie on his coffee drink. “Maria is um…she’s helping me with my case,” he answered quietly.

“What case?” Steve asked, suddenly panicked. 

Bucky scoffed. “Steve, I killed people,” he stated, like Steve had forgotten. “I also was a wanted felon for a few decades. There’s some people high up in the government who aren’t too keen to just ‘forget’ that shit because I claim I can’t remember it.”

“So you’re going to trial for it?” Steve clarified. “That’s fucking ridiculous! What happens if you lose? Bucky, these people don’t know you like I do, like we do. They might not understand! What are you being charged with? Do they even have any evidence on you? You can’t do this.”

“You think I don’t know the damn risks?” Bucky snapped. “You think this isn’t all I’ve been able to think about since I first got my memories back? You think I haven’t been scared out of what’s left of my goddamn mind?” He looked at Steve, jaw set hard. “I’m being accused of all these horrible things,” he said, voice shaking, “and I can’t even refute them! I know I did them, I just can’t remember them.”

“Oh, Bucky, I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve soothed, pulling the other man tight against his chest. “I’m sure this must be awful for you, baby. I’m scared too, y’know.”

“I’m sorry I put this on you,” Bucky sniffled.

“Hey, I’m glad you told me,” Steve assured him. “You know I’ll help however I can?”

“Pretty sure you didn’t go to law school, punk,” Bucky jibbed. “Maria has it all covered. They said she’s the best, so…” He bit his lip, and then leaned up to face Steve. “Just wish me luck?”

Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead. “Luck,” he whispered, his lips pressed against Bucky’s face.

Bucky let out a shaky sigh, and rested his head back against Steve’s chest. They spent the rest of Steve’s visit tangled up on Bucky’s mattress, quietly laughing and trading the occasional kiss.

xxxxx

Steve was, for only the second time in his short career as a stripper, nervous to go on stage. The first time was his first performance ever, which had been understandable. Now, he had no real justification for the way his hands shook as he smudged on some black eye kohl.

It had been over two weeks since he’d last seen Bucky. His trial had started, and every moment not spent in the courtroom was spent going over evidence, prepping witness testimonies, or crafting new arguments. 

Thanks to Tony, the entire trial had been closed off to media, press, and spectators – something about “national security” and “sensitive information.” He was probably right, but Steve knew it was going to be a huge help to Bucky to not have a thousand pairs of eyes scrutinizing his every move.

The downside was that Steve was not allowed to attend the hearings. Because of the gag order on the case, and the extensive amount of work involved outside of the case, Bucky had also not been allowed visitors of any kind.

So, even as Steve prepped for his routine, he couldn’t help but worry. He turned the small stereo they had backstage up a little louder, trying to lose himself in the beat of the music. He had to perform well tonight, he just had to. It wasn’t like he needed the money, but he was still an employee – there was no way he was going to risk disappointing Luke. The Avengers had already tried everything to convince him to quit, and Steve wasn’t going to give them any sort of satisfaction.

He heard the opening notes of his first song, and the roar of the crowd that had gathered as the lights lowered. He cracked his knuckles and popped his neck one more time before shedding the hoodie he had been wearing and stepping onto stage.

There seemed to be more people than usual out there tonight. Steve tried to stay focus on the steps. He strut across the front of the stage, teasing up the edges of the tank top of his costume. The familiar bump of the music helped, reminding him where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. He peeled the tight tank from his body, letting the shrieks of the audience wash over him. He ran his fingers down his chest and across his abs, licking his lips as he swayed his hips to the music. 

He peered out into the crowd again as he made his way across the stage to the pole. A bunch of younger women – a girl’s night of some sort, probably. A few other groups too, and a couple of older men sipping on beers. Steve paid special attention to them, throwing a few winks in their direction as he slid down the pole. He had learned which types of customers were most likely to pay for tricks, and those men fit the bill exactly.

He was hoisting himself up on the pole, curling his leg around it, when his eyes caught a flash of silver in the crowd. He continued his dance as he craned his head to get a better look, and nearly fell off the pole when he saw who it was.

Bucky sat comfortably on a tall bar-style chair, stirring a cocktail (mocktail, Steve was sure) on the table in front of him. He saw that he caught Steve’s gaze and pulled the straw from the glass, licking it slowly and seductively. 

Steve would normally be worried about popping a boner in public, but in this situation, it only enhanced his appeal. Admittedly it made it slightly harder to complete the dances, but the crowd continued to throw more and more bills onto the stage.

After what felt like ten years, but Steve knew was only ten minutes, the music began to die out. He blew a kiss to the audience before turning on his heels and lurching into the green room.  
Bucky, unsurprisingly, was already there waiting for him.

“Luke said you could have the rest of the night off when I asked,” he said casually, lounging on the futon. “Told him there was a ‘family emergency’. You can make up a story later.”

He sat up in one fluid motion and walked over to where Steve was standing, sweat and body glitter glinting off his chest. Bucky palmed him through his metallic red booty shorts, and Steve let out an involuntary whine.

“Jesus, Buck,” he moaned. “I don’t see ya for two weeks, and this is how our reunion goes?”

“Trial just ended this morning,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s ear, licking a hot strip down his neck. “And you know how much I like a show.”

“So what was – what was the verdict?” Steve was having a very hard time forming coherent sentences right now, as Bucky’s flesh hand was resting on the other side of his neck and his metal hand was moving dangerously down his abs.

“I’ll let you guess,” Bucky raised his eyebrows predatorily, running both his hands down Steve’s sides as he sank to his knees. 

“Not guil- ohhhh,” was all Steve got out before Bucky’s fingers made quick work of the metallic shorts, and Steve prayed to every god that was listening that the dressing room door was locked.

Bucky may or may not have confirmed his answer, but Steve couldn’t tell – Bucky’s mouth was pretty busy at the moment.

xxxxx

Bucky did end moving in with Steve, after all. They left The Red Room hand-in-hand late on Friday night, taking Steve’s motorcycle back to the apartment. 

“Can we get ice cream?” Bucky yelled over the roar of the motor.

“I thought you already got your dessert,” Steve pointed out smugly. 

“Punk,” Bucky rejoined. “Let’s go to the Ice Cream House, Clint was tellin’ me about it the other day. If you make a left here, we’ll be there in -” His sentence was cut off as he used all his strength to hold on to Steve as the driver took the sharp turn. 

They arrived at the shop and parked the motorcycle. Steve couldn’t hold back his smile as Bucky darted around like a little kid, tasting at least four different types before settling on a huge sundae. Steve picked out a sorbet, and they sat on the same bench in a corner booth to eat it all,

“Remember when we used to go to the drug store down the street, when we had a little extra money at the end of the month?” Bucky asked. “And we’d split a root beer float, and then you’d get the hiccups from the fizziness?”

Steve gave him a playful shove. “Wasn’t my fault! Those floats were delicious, though,” he agreed. “I’m glad you remember that,” he praised softly.

Bucky blushed, and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t remember everything,” he reminded Steve cautiously. “It’s all – it’s still coming back to me. They said I might not ever get it all back.”

“It’s alright,” Steve comforted him. “We can make new ones. Trust me, they’ll be loads better than anything you would’ve remembered us doin’ in the thirties.”

“Maybe,” Bucky acquiesced cautiously. He set his spoon down and looked up worriedly at Steve. “It wasn’t all bad, though, right? Back before the war?”

Steve squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “No, Buck, it wasn’t. It was rough sometimes – well, most of the time – but I wouldn’tve traded it for the world.” He kissed Bucky’s cheek. “We had a lot of good times together.”

Bucky smiled at the kiss, and resumed eating. “So, you’re not, disappointed or somethin’?” he asked curiously. “I mean, you were workin’ at the club to take a break from your life for a while. But you found me there, and that just kinda – I don’t know, made that whole situation worse?”

“Bucky!” Steve admonished. “Don’t ever think for a second that I regret finding you again. You have no idea how much I missed you,” he added softly. “Your death in the Alps changed everything for me. It felt like a part of me was gone. Yeah, you’re right, I got the job to get out of my head for a bit.” He looked at Bucky earnestly. “But that’s because my head was a mess. Because I was missing you.”

Bucky smiled at Steve, his heart swooning in his chest. “Well, I’m here ‘slong as you want me,” he told him, finishing the last bite of his ice cream.

“’Til the end of the line,” Steve promised. He leaned closer to Bucky’s face, and Bucky closed his eyes, expecting a kiss. Instead, he felt Steve’s thumb swipe at the corner of his lips. 

He cracked open his eye and saw Steve chuckle. “You had a little hot fudge, right there,” he explained.

“You little shit!” Bucky exclaimed.

“But I’m your little shit,” Steve countered, standing and tossing their empty bowls into the trash. “And you love it.” 

“I do love you,” Bucky vowed, wrapping Steve up in his arms outside on the sidewalk.

“I’m glad,” Steve responded. Bucky flicked him on the nose for that comment, before leaning in for his well-deserved kiss.

When they broke apart, Steve was beaming. “Ready to go?” he asked softly.

“As long as you’re comin’,” Bucky answered, strapping on his helmet. Steve kicked the bike to life, and they headed towards the apartment.

xxxxx

EPILOGUE – ONE YEAR LATER

xxxxx

“Hey, my favorite dancer and his boy-toy!” Luke greeted them as they sat down at the bar after Steve’s shift. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty well,” Steve answered, thanking the bartender for the drinks he placed in front of them. 

“We’re getting married!” Bucky interjected, holding up his left hand to display the shiny gold ring, stark against the metal prosthesis. 

“To the happy couple,” Luke congratulated them, raising his drink for a toast. They all clinked glasses and drank.

“I guess there’s something I want to talk to you about too, then,” Steve said, looking at Luke. “This is gonna have to be my last shift,” he admitted.

Luke nodded. “Hey , I get it.” He jerked his thumb towards Bucky. “He don’t really seem like the sharing type.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Nope,” he agreed.

“You’re invited to the wedding,” Steve assured Luke. “In May.”

“Thanks, man.” He grinned conspiratorially. “Does that mean I get to meet Tony Stark?”

Steve nearly spit out his drink. “Uh, what’re you talking about?” he asked, not coming across as casually as he had hoped.

“C’mon, Steve,” Luke shook his head. “I know who you are.”

Steve just gaped at him. “For – for how long?”

Luke snorted. “Uh, since day one? There’s not a lot of 6’2, all-American, brick shithouses walking around New York.”

“And you just let me work here?” Steve asked.

“Why not?” Luke shrugged. “You’re pretty good at your job.”

Steve sipped his drink, still a little dumbfounded. “Point taken,” he said.

“So do I get to meet him or not?” Luke pushed.

“Oh yeah, he’ll be there,” Steve promised. “I’ll introduce you two.”

“Can’t wait,” Luke said, before heading to the back to finish the night’s side work.

“Me neither,” Steve heard Bucky say softly. He turned and saw the other man looking reverently at him.

“Good to know,” Steve said simply, leaning in to kiss his husband-to-be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos mean the world to me.


End file.
